The Masks We Wear
by HungLikeARainbro
Summary: Also posted on AO3. Eric Cartman has a boyfriend which would be great if he knew who he was. A hot, tall underground wrestler with a weird fake accent and a penchant for cross-dressing should be easy to pinpoint in South Park, but Princess Ballerina is taking his secret identity seriously. Non-con/identity issues, characters are 16/17, a few other warnings outlined inside.
1. The Bets We Place

**Helpful note of helpfulness: Hi there! Are you going to read this whole fanfic all the way through in one sitting? That's really flattering but I want to make sure you've had something to drink and/or eat recently before you start. Take any medication you need to as well, you'd be surprised how time slips away!**

 **I promised myself I'd wait until I was further along in H2P but you all know by now I'm a ficaholic. Anyway, this shouldn't affect the pace of that too much and this has been sitting on my computer and staring at me for weeks now and I love it too much to ignore it.**

 **We see a lot of Cartman treating Kyle badly because of 'teh lubs' and I wanted to reverse it. But obviously because it's Kyle he feels actual remorse. Eventually.**

 **I'm just going to clarify the tone and subject matter of this fic so people who want to run or stay know what they're in for:**

 **1\. There is dubious consent issues due to identity. Whether this counts as rape/non-con/blurred lines/fine is up to individual debate but I wanted to warn anyway. Cartman is not going to experience sexual assault in the more usual dramatic sense of being outright forced or coerced (nor any other character).**

 **2\. Sixteen is the age of consent in my country so I have no issues writing about seventeen, however 18+ is the usual around the world so bear in mind that Cartman is 17 turning 18, and Kyle is newly turned 18.**

 **3\. There is homophobia and assault from other parties and not our mains (and again no-one is sexually assaulted in that sense). There is also murder and attempted suicide.**

 **4\. I don't want to say muuuuuch more than that because of giving things away. Hope the story is a little clearer.**

* * *

The only reason Cartman had even gone to the stupid underground wrestling league was because Clyde Donovan couldn't shut up about it every lunch break. It was a great place to go if you wanted to make some small cash on bets, or lose everything you had as was more often the case with Clyde. He never could bet smart. Cartman knew the gambling game far better, and the idea of earning a few bucks and watching muscular guys pummel the shit out of each other was tantalising enough for him to give in.

He just wished Clyde had told him what a fucking dive the place was; an abandoned warehouse with a few fairy lights strung about, some crates in a row for a makeshift bar. The only real work done was a large cage in the middle of the room. There were bloodstains on the concrete floor, the only promising thing Cartman had seen all evening. Clyde ecstatically waved at him from across the room; already drunk. Well, he _was_ only eighteen. Cartman reluctantly joined him as there was no-one else to talk to. The other kids at school didn't give a shit about Clyde's new wrestling fascination and had absolutely no interest in seeing it live.

Cartman ordered a gimlet, receiving the side-eye from the bartender. "I know it's an old lady drink, just fucking give it to me," Cartman spat. At a younger seventeen, he was still more sophisticated than Clyde's barely cold, generic-brand beer. He got his drink and sipped carefully, surveying the scene before him. A few of the wrestlers were wandering around and it was piquing his interest.

For one thing, from the way Clyde had described it, the wrestling here was closer to cage fighting. It was called wrestling just to stop the police turning up. There were only a few rules, and they mostly revolved around the secret identity clause. The wrestlers were anonymous and wore masks, similar to the Lucha Libre form of wrestling. This was partly to keep arrests down, and to protect participants from being taken out of the running from assault in their downtime by cheating gamblers. They could also wear a costume though it wasn't necessary. As cheap as the place was, they didn't seem to want to be associated with TV wrestling, as if it were somehow beneath them.

Cartman turned to look at the odds board. A name caught his eye – actually it had caught most patrons' eyes and they weren't too happy about it. "Princess Ballerina. Fucking seriously?" Cartman turned back to his people-watching trying to catch sight of such a strange character. No-one looked even slightly princessy or ballerinary. Maybe it was just a name after all, and the guy had sensibly not worn a costume.

A bell went off signalling everyone to gather for the forthcoming match and Clyde slumped against him as he fell off his crate-cum-barstool. "Come on, Cartman, we're going to miss the first round. Did you place a bet?"

"I'll wait for the next one." He wanted to bide his time and see how things operated around here before making any financial decisions.

Two large guys that looked evenly matched headed into the cage and the referee began a brief 'kayfabe' about their violent history. It was purely a bit of fun, but Cartman yawned, seeing nothing interesting about such facetiousness. The fight was almost as boring. Nothing to the face or groin were standard rules, he got that, but these two seemed more interested in slamming into each other like sumos except with none of the pride of the ancient art and far less grace. But the guy he thought would win did, and he regretted not betting.

"Next up," the referee yelled after a short break, "Princess Ballerina versus Snakebite!"

Cartman's ears pricked up. And here he'd been considering going home. "Holy shit," Clyde nudged him. "Check out the fag."

Cartman's eyes became saucers at the vision of a tall, slim man wearing a white bodysuit and tights complete with pink tutu and stilettos, and a silver-and-pink mask topped with a small silvery tiara to complement. He sauntered around the cage waving away all the jeering and an odd mixture of homophobic taunts and catcalls.

This guy was either freakishly tough, or a moron.

Taking a closer look, Cartman guessed it was the former. He was slender, but the muscles he had were toned and well-versed. So long as he stayed out of holds and used speed and stamina, he stood a chance, especially against someone like Snakebite. Cartman had clocked him earlier. He was even fatter than he was and that meant he was probably slow.

Cartman slammed down a ten at the bar when he saw Princess Ballerina's odds were 10 to 1. The bartender howled with laughter. This kid was never going to see that money again. Cartman rejoined Clyde at the chicken-wire and rubbed his hands gleefully.

"Princess Ballerina is our newest fighter and he comes highly recommended. I hope you all enjoy this match. Snakebite, don't win too quick; we want these folks to be entertained after all." The crowd cheered. This lumbering idiot was obviously a favourite Cartman thought idly, trying not to notice how translucent Princess Ballerina's outfit was in certain places.

The match started and Cartman's guy was up the sides like the fucking Spider-Man and performed a perfect diving bulldog. The room fell silent as everyone waited for Snakebite to recover from both the shock and pain. Princess Ballerina stood at the side, arms folded smugly tapping his thin heel on the concrete ground rhythmically. Every time Snakebite tried to get a hold of him, he practically danced away and a few more carefully timed attacks brought his opponent to the point of exhaustion. A quick floor-standing moonsault and it was over.

Cartman grabbed Clyde and screamed with laughter.

* * *

"I have to meet that crazy bastard," Cartman grinned, shuffling his winnings greedily.

"Why?" Clyde moaned, lamenting the fifty he put down on Snakebite.

"Ask him what the deal is with that outfit for one thing." Though Cartman could guess. Reverse psychology. Everyone had underestimated him, which meant no-one bet on him, which meant the place made money. Smart.

He was in the corner, sensibly staying out of the way of angry patrons who had lost money on "a giant pink queer," and talking to someone who Cartman supposed was the owner of the place or his manager, or both.

Cartman approached as soon as the other guy was gone. The Princess Ballerina seemed to balk at the sight of him, but stayed silent. Cartman suddenly felt strangely in awe of this man looming over him. "I er…" Cartman felt self-conscious when he began to stutter. "Just wanted to say you were awesome, sir." Why was he sirring? "I could tell you were a red herring straight off."

"Oh?" he replied in a gruff but amused voice.

"Yeah, your arms and…" Cartman's eyes travelled downwards, "…legs gave you away. You're fitter than you seem. If you know what to look for."

"Spend a lot of time ogling guys at the gym, do you kid?"

"No!" Cartman floundered. Except actually _yes_.

He jumped when the other man ran lithe fingers up his bare arm. He smiled. "You're deceptive too." His accent was a strange mix and he was speaking unnaturally deep. Still wearing his mask too. Whoever he was, he was taking the secret identity thing very seriously.

"Me?" Cartman breathing went shallow as the face got closer. He still couldn't see his eyes. The mask had a weird mesh over the eye pieces, like Deadpool or something. Only the mouth was exposed, and Cartman realised he was staring at it. He took his arm back, blushing fiercely and hating himself for it.

"Yeah, you're a chubby kid…"

"Ay!"

"But there's muscle under there. Given the right training, maybe we could tag team."

"Oh and what would I be, huh? Mermaid Queen? Nurse Brony?"

The ballerina chuckled, "If you like. This outfit has its advantages."

"Like what?"

"Like how you were the only one to bet on me. We got a lot of money from this match. Everyone misjudged me but you."

 _So I was right._ "Takes more than spandex to fool Eric Theodore Cartman."

"I'm sure it does, _Eric_."

Somehow, barely half an hour later, Cartman found himself backstage, red-faced and bent over a dressing table as he was fucked by a transvestite wrestler.


	2. The Choices We Make

"You okay?" Princess Ballerina asked and pressed his lips to the back of Cartman's sweating neck.

"I'll live." Cartman wiped the kiss away. "Not like I haven't fucked my fingers before now."

"Good to know you're not a complete stranger." He turned out of Cartman's sight, snapped the condom off and tucked himself away before readjusting his tutu. Cartman stood warily. He'd been laying it on thick with his bravado. That had hurt a lot more than he thought it would. A full box of painkillers and a bottle of unopened water were handed to him. "Just in case you think I'm trying to slip you something."

"What'd be the point? We already fucked."

"Maybe I'm after your organs."

Cartman swallowed down the pills. "Good luck, I've only got one kidney thanks to some Jewish baby I know."

"I noticed the scar," he said. "It's cute." He might have winked but Cartman couldn't tell under the mask.

"Maybe next time you can see more of me," Cartman grinned.

The wrestler paused from sipping his own water but didn't reply. "I don't wanna be rude, but I need to talk to my manager. Can y'all see yourself out?"

"Sure, I'm a big boy."

"I noticed."

Cartman blushed, a little too insecure to be sure whether this guy was talking about his weight or his penis. He tried to save face with a nonchalant wave of his hand. "Kewl, well see you around, I guess. I mean, Clyde'll probably drag me back here next week so… you know… I'll be here. Next week."

 _Smooth, Eric._

Princess Ballerina simply tapped their water bottles together as a mock-toast and abruptly left. Cartman saw no reason to hang around and decided to grab Clyde before he tried to leave on his own and stumble drunkenly into a ditch on his way home. He called his mother to pick them up. He sure as Hell wasn't in any condition to walk home either.

* * *

A week later, Cartman fiddled anxiously with his shirtsleeves as he waited at the bar. Two matches had been and gone and he'd made a tidy sum from them both but that wasn't why he was here. He craned his neck over the crowd, cursing his five and a half foot stature. His mother kept reassuring him that all the Cartman men sprouted late.

A flash of pink near the dressing room and Cartman's stomach fluttered. "Get a fucking grip," he scolded himself, slipping down from the crate he'd been using as a bar stool and sauntering as casually as possible to his prey. "Hey, you fighting tonight?"

The wrestler had been talking to his manager again and he shrank at the sound of Cartman's voice. He turned to him reluctantly. "Car- er, Eric. Good to see ya again."

Cartman's heart dropped like a rock at the other guy's obvious discomfort at his presence, but he tried not to show it in his expression. "Yeah well, my friend Clyde dragged me out here again and I thought we could… hang out," he said meaningfully. "After your match."

"Getting quite a _large_ fanbase, aren't you P.B.?" the manager squeezed the stocky teen's shoulder with a wheezing chuckle. Cartman narrowed his eyes, but let the guy live. For now.

"Leave the kid alone," Princess Ballerina snarled and abruptly hauled Cartman away to the dressing room for a private audience. The moment the door shut behind them he rounded on the confused boy. "Why are you here?"

Enraged, Cartman snarled back, "What crawled up your ass? I had fun last week and I wanted to see you again. That such a big fucking problem?"

"Yes! I mean, no! Look I…" He scratched the back of his neck with a weary sigh. "I have a match in a few minutes. Then I want to go home right after. Sorry."

Cartman winced when he felt his voice crack but he was determined to say his piece. "So I was just a fuck. Fine. No big deal. Would have been nice to know before."

"It's not like that." He smiled when Cartman let him run his fingers across his face. "I had fun too. And I like you, you're cute. But you know nothing about me."

"I know you're hot," Cartman smirked.

"How? I wear a mask."

"It's not just about looks. It's about 'tude. Besides, I'm not exactly a ten here. Hell I'm not even sure I'm a number."

The wrestler kissed where his fingers had traced the curve of Cartman's cheek before. "Didn't I just tell you that you're cute? Calling me a liar?" Cartman tilted his head into a deeper kiss, swearing when the bell for the match sounded. "Eric, did you place a bet yet?"

"On you? Of course."

"Good." He kissed him again. "I'm going to win this for you – my biggest fan."

* * *

Princess (as Cartman had decided to call him in his head) was as good as his word, making short work of his opponent Brass Monkey. Cartman chose to hover at the bar when he noticed the manager following his idol into the dressing room after the fight, and sat sipping as angrily as one could at a gin and tonic. Fortune patted him on the head however, and the manager left almost as soon as he had entered and Cartman could hear Princess shuffling around inside muttering to himself. "Princess?" he called out and timidly rapped at the door. There was a low grunt of what he hoped was permission and he let himself in.

The wrestler was sat at the dressing table, _the_ dressing table, sewing what appeared to be a spare costume. Cartman relaxed when he looked up and asked, "How'd I do?" with a smile.

"Your moves were hella kewl."

His shoulders shook from subdued laughter at the comment. "Hope y'all put a decent amount down."

"Princess, you're going to put me through college at this rate."

"My pleasure."

"Is it?" asked Cartman, suddenly feeling bold. "I could thank you more officially you know." Princess Ballerina kept sewing, though it was possible he glanced over in interest at Cartman if the slight jerk of his head was any indication. Cartman's patience snapped with all the ease of a dry twig and he dropped down between the aloof young man's legs.

"Car-!" he yelped as Cartman ducked under his tutu and two pink tender lips and an eager tongue began to wet the fabric around his cock. He pushed Cartman's face aside as gently as he could. But he was clearly hurt by the action. "Eric…" he repeated more softly. "We shouldn't. I shouldn't."

Steely eyes flashed as they swivelled towards the wrestler's saddened gaze. "Why? You still haven't given me a decent reason. Say you don't want me and I'll go, but anything else is just bullshit."

"I don't want…"

Cartman's heart was in his mouth, for in that brief horrific moment he thought his latest deepest nightmare was about to come true. Then slim hands enveloped his face and every negative dark apparition that lived inside him melted in the heat of a chaste kiss.

"I can't say a lie like that. I do want you. But Eric, I can't tell you who I am." The wrestler sighed. "However, I promise that from this moment on that will be the only truth I will ever keep from you. If that is something you can live with... then…"

Cartman nodded and his new lover led him over to a beaten and worn couch, running their fingers over the buttons of his deep red shirt whispering, "You dressed up all nice just for me, didn't you?" and opened Cartman's jeans and took his cock in their mouth in a way that made him gurgle curses he didn't even know he knew.


	3. The Lives We Save

So began Eric Cartman's new lease of life – wandering to and fro between classes he hated and interacting with students he tolerated and snatching a few sweet moments of fun with friends at lunch before skipping off every Friday night to watch his boyfriend beating the crap out of badly dressed Batman villains and then sneaking off to his dressing room for a hot and heavy fuck.

The first couple of times he found himself bent over, head held in place, and used, which certainly had an appeal to him, but he was a little bit of a softy underneath his crass mannerisms, and he was starting to lose the hope he had for their coupling to be more romantic especially as Princess Ballerina never took off any of his costume except sometimes the tutu. He could have had a technicolour dick and Cartman would have been none the wiser. But after a few sessions he seemed to have gotten Cartman's hints and when he tried again to suck his cock the wrestler didn't stop him.

Cartman opened the snaps at the crotch of the bodysuit and yanked down the opaque tights to reveal the huge reward. _Well no wonder it used to fucking hurt so much_ , Cartman thought and stared. It occurred to him that apart from porn and the amazing performances Princess had given, he had no idea how to suck a dick himself. He heard his lover chuckle at him from above and he wished the ground would just go ahead and swallow him, because that sure as Hell wasn't happening here anytime soon.

"Just do what you would want," Princess Ballerina advised. "And I'll let you know how good it is."

"You sound more confident in my abilities than I am," Cartman pouted. He sat back when Princess moved his hand to stroke at his dick, pulling it forward and offering it like a treat. Hesitating only to gather his courage he leaned forward and shyly sucked at the tip, encouraged to go deeper by the approving moan he shook out of his boyfriend.

"Look at me, Eric."

Cartman angled his head slightly and cast his eyes upwards.

"So beautiful."

Ridiculous, but he actually meant it and Cartman was so moved that he took him deeper.

"Eric, don't!"

Too late; he was already gagging, pulling back hastily and embarrassed as he coughed into Princess's thigh. "Fuck shit. Fuck."

"Oh you really are adorable, ain't you, Eric?" Princess soothed, holding him close. "Sorry for laughing atcha."

"Asshole," he grumbled into his chest. "I get laughed at enough at school."

He felt Princess's arms tighten. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay. It was kinda funny. At least I didn't throw up."

"True. Now…" Princess ran slim fingers through his mussed hair. "How about we wrap this up before curfew, hmm?"

"Pfft I don't have a curfew, I'm not a fucking kid. Which is lucky for you, or you'd be Paedo Ballerina."

"I'm not a paedo? I am older than you."

Cartman scrutinised what little of his face he could see. "Not by much. Enough that you're covered by the loophole on statutory."

"How old do you think I am?" Princess grinned as he stood up to slip his arms out of the top part of his bodysuit and roll it down past his chest.

Cartman gulped at the vision of neatly waxed and deliciously toned flesh. "Maybe twenty. You've got good skin, you're uh…" Cartman flinched when his own clothes were tugged at impatiently, "…firm too."

"I'm definitely that."

Cartman kept his shirt on to cover up his lack of confidence in his own body and Princess didn't seem to mind as he devoured the parts of him that he allowed to be exposed with alternating nibbles and licks. Feeling like a bit of a slut when two fingers easily slipped inside him, Cartman's legs fell open and he sucked a third finger into his gaping hole, letting out a faint groan. Princess called him beautiful again, laying him down on the couch and fucking him faster and wider with each gasp and shake.

 _I'm losing my mind over this guy_ , Cartman thought, dimly aware that the fingers had been replaced with a well-lubed dick. He tugged the warm body closer and savoured the novel experience of kissing and fucking at the same time without getting a crick in his neck.

* * *

"What's with the mole-rat look?"

"The what?" said Princess and stretched his arms out as he reclined on a small metal chair, naked save for his bodysuit still placed in an awkward limbo between his ribs and his groin, his mask, and a full condom dangling from the end of his cock. The cold was causing his skin to tighten and nipples perk in a way that made Cartman's mouth water.

He gestured to the smooth body before him. "I'm talking about the back, sack and crack wax job. What brought that on?"

"Oh that," Princess shrugged. "I've always done that. Stops my costume from chafing."

Catman scowled. He'd definitely felt pubes brush against his butt cheeks when they'd fucked before. So much for the promise of honesty in their relationship. He had a feeling it had been done so Cartman couldn't identify him by hair colour or pattern. He could understand that, and he was flattered that Princess thought he'd be that intelligent and persevering in the quest for his identity. But as much as he'd like to know, for the first time in his life he wanted to respect someone else's privacy. It reminded him of when he was a child and he and his friends dressed up in disguises; some of them he knew, some he didn't. It had been quite thrilling. In this new adult context, the secretiveness was kind of sexy. Maybe this was how superheroes' girlfriends felt. Why they put up with so much bullshit.

"I should go," he said as he began to pull on his clothes. "Got a science test on Monday and I know fuck all. Gonna go steal the answers from my local Jew-nerd."

"Shit!" Princess jumped up and scrabbled feverishly to pull back up his bodysuit and slip on his tights.

"What?"

Princess balled the rest of his outfit into a duffle bag. "I have to go too."

"Great, we can walk home together."

"Eric…" Princess began in a warning tone and Cartman sat in quiet anger and yanked his shoelaces into place as a retort. "I'm sorry. But you know why I can't."

"I meant _my_ home. I'm not going to follow you to your house like an asshole."

"It's not that I don't trust you."

"Whatever." Cartman sloped off as soon as his shirt was buttoned, slamming the door behind him. He wrapped his coat tighter around his frame and walked into the stiff breeze that rattled his bones and made him hate the world just a little bit more.

He felt stupid calling Princess his boyfriend. It was barely a relationship but he was so starved for affection and attention. His mother spent more and more time 'working' – not quite young enough to pull in her usual johns but not quite old enough to move onto the GILF clientele – and she needed to make ends meet. Realising he wasn't as into girls as he thought and preferred men had put a halt to his romantic life at school. All the potential guys were taken. After school his friends were either with their partners or doing school work and although he did join in sometimes he hated being the third/fifth/seventh/whatever wheel in the study groups. Except for his friend Kyle. Kyle was his fellow sexual loser-in-arms but it wasn't as comforting as he felt it should be.

All he had was a cross-dressing social recluse that used him as a living breathing fleshlight.

Worst of all… it was now all he wanted.

He picked up the pace as the wind began to whip fiercely around his face and he tugged his blue and yellow beanie over his ears for warmth and protection.

"Hey fag!"

He spun around at the call from behind and got a punch in the face as a reward. His fall thankfully cushioned by a drift of snow at the edge of the sidewalk, he looked up at two hulking men leering at him and rolled away in time to avoid a kick to the stomach, the stranger's foot glancing his back instead. "What the fuck?" he spat at them.

"That pink tranny of yours is ruining our betting streak," the fatter one growled. "So we're sending a message to her."

"By outnumbering and beating up a kid. So fucking manly of you."

"Yeah well," the other guy snickered. "The fewer there are of your type, the better." A flash of light in their eyes made them both step back and Cartman took the opportunity to reveal what had caused it. He plunged his trusty switchblade into the thigh of the nearest assailant. They collapsed with a satisfying screech but the knife stuck fast in the flesh. Cartman was now unarmed and he'd made the mistake of attacking the smaller man first. The other guy slammed him nose-first back onto the ground easily and straddled his legs. Cartman's hair was grabbed and his head was lifted and he had the feeling his nose and the ground were going to become promptly acquainted again.

Suddenly the weight was gone and Cartman stared up past the melting snow streaming down his face at the beautiful pink and silver mask illuminated by moonlight. It shimmered as it rushed past him. Behind him, Cartman heard a few more meetings of hard bone, yells of fright and swiftly withdrawing footsteps.

He was gathered up tenderly as a soft familiar voice sobbed his name. Then he passed out briefly only waking when he felt himself propped up against his front door and the sound of heels clicking on the sidewalk as his saviour retreated.

* * *

Kyle Broflovski slipped quietly through the front door of his house. His parents were still awake but tucked away in their bedroom. He only had to make it up the stairs without being seen and things would be fine. He pressed against the wall and crept up the stairs placing each stiletto carefully in the non-creaky parts of the boards. Safely at the top, he snuck into the bathroom, pulled off his mask and examined his face.

Fuck, he was a mess; lip almost split, both eyes black and a swollen nose, though Cartman would probably argue that it didn't look any different.

"Shit," he mumbled as he began to clean his wounds. It was more than just his face that was a mess right now.


	4. The Lies We Tell

"Holy crap, Cartman, what happened to you?" The whole study group gawped at him as he slunk inside Stan Marsh's kitchen on Saturday morning.

Cartman reached up to his purple cheek and nose self-consciously. "That bad, huh?"

"Terrible. Looks really painful, too." His best friend Kenny smacked his face like the bastard he was.

"Ay!" Cartman howled, sitting down next to Stan's girlfriend. "Fucking dick."

"What happened?" she gasped.

"Don't wanna talk about it." He slumped forward on the table. "Let's just get on with this." He rummaged through his backpack for his study aids then paused. "Where's the Daywalker?"

Stan rolled his eyes at the so-called nickname. " _Kyle_ is sick. He's staying home today."

Cartman snorted. Kyle could afford not to study, that straight-A ginger nerd. It wasn't fair. He flipped through his text book and pretended to listen to Wendy's study schedule. All he heard was 'break for snacks' and honestly it was the only part that interested him. A few moments into reading the first passage about mitochondria (or perhaps it was midichlorians – he had no idea if there was a difference) he realised Kenny was staring at him. "What?" Cartman growled.

"Is that a hickey?"

He clamped his hand to his neck. "No."

"Funny how if it's not a hickey you knew exactly what I was talking about, and where it was to cover it up." Kenny giggled and poked at the folds of Cartman's neck. "Guys," he shouted louder, instantly grabbing their attention, "Cartman's got a hickey!"

"Fuck you, Kenny," he snarled, his whole face almost as purple as his bruises.

"Kenny, stop it," said Wendy in her most severe 'don't mess with me, boy' voice. "Cartman, can I talk to you? Outside."

 _Great_ , he thought, following her to the next room. "Why am I in trouble, Kenny's the one disturbing the class."

"I just want you to know I'm here if you ever need to talk." Wendy fiddled self-consciously with the sleeves of her (Stan's) football jersey.

Cartman raised an eyebrow. He hadn't been expecting that. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm no detective but you've got a hickey AND bruises, overnight. What I'm saying is I have some pamphlets if you want to read through them. I can get you the number of someone that can help with rape and domestic vio-"

"Oh Jesus," Cartman sighed and interrupted her before she could get ahead of herself. "It's not like that. Not even close." But she wouldn't stop with the large-eyed empathetic gazing. He resolutely stomped back into the kitchen. "Okay you buttlords, listen up because I'm only explaining this once. I got mugged last night by some closeted fuckers and they tried to beat the shit out of me. If my boyfriend hadn't been there to help me out I'd have looked a lot worse. Now, can we just learn about Jedis or whatever."

He slumped back into his seat and rather enjoyed the slack-jawed staring from around the table that his sudden coming out had caused.

* * *

"Oh my God, Bubby!"

Kyle's shoulders fell at the stampeding figure dashing up the stairs and his mother's high yowl at the state of his face when he finally peeked out of his room that afternoon. She yelped louder when she saw the extent of his injuries up close. "What happened to you?!"

"I got into a fight last night."

"What what what?!" she shrieked her catchphrase.

Kyle leant against the doorframe. It looked like he wasn't going to get to have a piss any time soon. "Some guys were whaling on a friend. Don't you see, I had to step in, ma. Can I go back to bed now?"

"Not until I get you fixed up, young man. Who were these awful bullies? I'm going to have a few words with their parents."

"I don't know and I don't care. Please ma, I already cleaned myself up."

"Bubby, you might be really hurt. You might have concussion!" she bawled.

Why was he bothering arguing – he never won, not against his mother. "Don't worry so much. I'm not going to Stan's to study, I'm staying in today. You can keep an eye on me.

"And I sure as heck will do just that. Back to bed and I'll bring you some chicken soup."

"Thanks, ma. That sounds great."

"Anything for my brave little hero," she cooed and got onto her tiptoes to kiss a non-tender part of his cheek. "Who was it?"

"Huh?"

"That you saved."

"Oh uh, he'd probably get pissy with me for saying."

She clicked her tongue angrily. "You mean it was Eric Cartman. Such an ungrateful boy. I don't know why you bother with that one."

"He's not all bad," he murmured. "He has his softer side, he just hates anyone seeing it."

"If you say so. Now back to bed."

Kyle didn't need to be told twice and crawled eagerly back under his covers once he'd emptied his bladder. He stirred again only when his mother brought him his lunch and he tapped his phone to life as he sipped the rich consommé prematurely and burned his already sore lip. Stan had sent him a message. He pressed call and put his soup aside for a moment to cool. "S'up Stan?"

"Dude, you might want to sit down or something but _Cartman_ has a _boyfriend_."

"Really?" Kyle's heart skipped a beat. He thought of him, no, rather he thought of Princess like that? "Good for him."

"You don't sound surprised. It knocked me for six."

"I had a feeling he was seeing someone lately. He's been really chill. As for the guy thing, I think I always suspected." Kyle sat forward and played with his toes. "What's he like?"

"He wouldn't say at first. But Wendy and Kenny led a huge inquisition when we stopped for lunch and Cartman broke pretty quickly. All he'll say is he's an older guy he met at a bar, but that he's not creepy-old."

"I suppose all that matters is he's happy." His heart skipped again. "Do you think he's happy?"

"I never thought about it but yeah. You're right that he's been less of a little bitch the last few weeks."

Kyle laughed and attempted his soup again. Just right. "I have to go, I'm eating lunch."

"Sure, just thought I'd let you in on the latest gossip. You coming by tomorrow for our next study session?"

"Probably not. I might not make it to school either on Monday."

"If I didn't know you better I'd say you were trying to skip the test."

"You know I live for tests, Stan," Kyle said and Stan joined in his laughter this time. He hung up and stared at the small box on top of his wardrobe that contained his worst and most glittery secret.

* * *

Cartman shook his head when Kyle finally slunk into science class on Wednesday. "Well well, the Prodigal Son returneth, to what do we owe the honour?" He shot Kyle a glare as he stoically took out his books from his backpack and set them neatly on the desk. He jabbed at his arm. "You malingering dick, I can't believe you pulled a sickie on our test."

"I'm doing a make-up," he retorted. Then Kyle flinched at what he'd said. His biggest worry about returning to school was that sitting so close to Cartman he might spot the _actual_ make-up he was wearing to cover up his shiners. Online video tutorials and stealing from his mother's collection of beauty products had proved fruitful but he had a distinct apprehension that he would be seen through. Luckily his worse eye was on the opposite side to Cartman. He ran a self-conscious hand across his mouth. His lip had mostly healed (and Holy Moses it had taken a lot of begging and playing up to convince his mother to let him stay home until it closed up) but he didn't want Cartman asking questions about the small fuschia mark left behind. Hopefully if he did notice he wouldn't put two and two together.

"S'pose those guys told you about my penchant for dick?" Cartman said suddenly, doodling in the corner of his text book instead of taking notes. A scribble of a Lucha Libre mask. Kyle kept his hand over his mouth, nodded slowly, and kept writing what he could garner from the teacher's incessant droning. "Not as curious as them?" asked Cartman.

"Actually I am. Kenny told me you don't know anything about him. He didn't elaborate though."

Cartman slammed his pencil down. "Trust that poor shit to interfere. We can't all have an awaiting bitch on every street corner like him."

"He's just worried. We all are. A strange guy from a bar rings a lot of alarm bells, dude. What's his job? How old is he? For all you know he's married with kids and using you."

"No way," Cartman cackled. His heart pounded against his ribcage. Trust Kyle to pinpoint and voice every single one of his fears.

"Have you even looked this guy up online just in case?"

"I uh… don't know his name." Before Kyle could protest he added, "We're keeping things casual."

"Not telling someone your name isn't being casual," Kyle snapped, internally congratulating his acting. "It's downright suspicious."

"Whatever. You're just pissed because you're the only single loser left in the gang. AND the only virgin."

Kyle leaned over his text book to hide his face. He wasn't exactly sure how his expression appeared but it could betray him if he looked anything other than angry or hurt. He had an inkling he was giving the impression of being relatively smug.


	5. The Threads We Pull

Friday rolled around and Cartman breezed into the warehouse, put his usual bet down and began looking about in the perfect impersonation of a meerkat. He spotted Princess near the dressing room and rushed to his side and for once he was greeted with a very public hug, much to the other patrons' disapproval. Catman didn't give a single shit and buried his face into the soft fabric of the pastel bodysuit. "Thanks for the other day."

"What do you mean?" Princess hummed into his hair.

"Kicking those guys' asses."

"What do you expect me to do when my boy is in trouble?"

"I sure as fuck didn't expect you to be there in the first place."

Princess pulled away and led him back to the bar to order their usual. "I felt guilty about what I said. So I followed ya home."

"Stalker," Cartman reprimanded and smirked. "Anyway, I totally had the situation under control."

"I don't doubt that, but I couldn't resist charging in like a princess on a white charger to save my dark knight." He tucked a finger under Cartman's chin and kissed him lightly, eyeing their displeased audience gravely as they all looked away in disgust. He was deliberately sending a message; this is mine and anyone else who has a problem with that will have to deal with me. Cartman knew it and grinned wider. "How long before you're up?"

"I already am," Princess chuckled in his ear. "But if you meant how long before my match, it's in twenty minutes."

"Good. Sounds like just enough time to show you my appreciation," he purred back.

* * *

"Hey uh, I don't want to be _that_ kind of boyfriend but could you maybe change your deodorant?"

Princess sat up carefully so as not to squash the sated sleepy boy beneath him and began to search the floor for his tutu. "Why?"

"You smell like a guy from school and it turns me off."

"Oh…" Princess pursed his lips thoughtfully. "You don't like him?"

"What? Nah, we're bros. Known him since we were in diapers. Just weird to have you two smell the same, y'know?" Cartman used his shirt to wipe the sheen of sweat from his face. He frowned at the damp patch and took the box of tissues Princess offered him so he could clean up properly. "You can go ahead, I already put my bet on."

"I prefer having you there with me," said Princess quietly. "You're like a good luck charm. Or perhaps, more like a muse."

"Princess, you could beat those asswipes with your eyes closed," Cartman scoffed, ironically wiping his ass as he said so. Princess grabbed him around his waist with a delighted laugh. Cartman tried to wriggle free but he wasn't really that desperate to escape. He pretended to give up and let Princess have his way as he kissed his lower back and sides affectionately. He had a thing about his love handles. Cartman wished he could say the same thing. Princess never exposed his torso, for whatever reason. "That tickles," Cartman griped after a while. "And you've got a fight to get to."

"Okay okay," Princess conceded and threw Cartman's pants onto his head. "Let's go, beautiful."

* * *

Moscow Mule was that night's opponent and Princess had his work cut out for him for once. He was slimmer than his usual fare, evenly matched, and they were putting on a good show. Cartman watched eagerly from an excellent vantage point by the wire doorway. Something about seeing Princess completely owning another dude made him all hot and bothered. Princess looked up from the carnage and saw Cartman's sweetly demonic smile. He blew him a kiss as he straddled his opponent and cheesy as it was Cartman mimed catching it in midair.

Princess carried on with his beat down whilst Cartman daydreamed about Princess straddling _his_ hips instead, snapping out of it only when he felt a large hand land on his shoulder. "You left this behind the other day," a voice hissed in his ear and his good old switchblade was pressed into his hand.

"Why, thank you for returning my property. Such gentlemen!" he sneered, taking back his knife. He spun around so he could admire the two men's fucked up faces proudly. "What can I do for you?"

"Just warning you that Caitlyn isn't always going to be around to protect you."

"Protect me? Says the guy with the pronounced limp. I think you'll find _I_ did that number on you."

The man in question redistributed his weight more comfortably onto his other foot. His companion shrugged on his behalf and told Cartman in a low whisper, "Keep telling yourself that, little boy."

"Let's get one thing queer here, guys. Princess didn't save _me_ , he saved _you_. If he hadn't stepped in… well there's no telling how far I'd go. See, he's a goody-goody bound by the rules of the game and his own sense of morality. But me? I don't give a fuck. The big question is which one of you would make the best chilli and which one should eat it?"

They stepped back, apprehensive and confused.

"Eric? The match is over," Princess called from the other side of the chicken wire, having recognised and was therefore glowering at the men hovering around Cartman. "Are these guys bothering you?"

"We're kewl, Princess. They were just leaving," he hinted. They got the message and slumped off back to the bar. Cartman jumped slightly when he felt arms envelope him but relaxed when they brought with them a familiar mix of sweat and Kyle's deodorant.

"I'm glad they didn't try anything," Princess mumbled into the back of his neck. "I saw them during the fight. Was tempted to scale the sides and jump over if it looked like you couldn't handle them."

"Wouldn't that count as a forfeit?"

"Yes."

"Hell no – you can't do anything like that. I put good money on you."

Princess chuckled. "Come on, let's get a drink and watch the other matches."

Cartman turned about in his arms and tugged enthusiastically on his tutu. "I had something more private in mind."

"You can't seriously want to go again?" he gasped incredulously.

"Hella yeah I do!"

"You're truly insatiable, Eric," he laughed.

"Only because you're so doable." He waggled his eyebrows. "You grab the booze, I'll go get comfy."

Princess nodded and kissed his cheek. "Make sure those guys don't follow you. When I get there I'll knock five times, then three."

"Good thinking," he murmured, narrowing his eyes at his attackers slumped on a crate. Who knew being a gay wrestler in a seedy bar could bring so much hassle?

* * *

Cartman sarcastically whistled at the tattered trench coat and muddy sneakers Princess left the dressing room in. He put on a large floppy hat and adjusted it to cover his mask as much as possible. "That bad, huh?" he smiled wryly.

"No way, it's totally the sexiest thing you've ever worn," Cartman sniggered. "Why are you dressed like a ninja turtle anyway?"

"Gonna walk you home, just in case those guys try again and you accidentally murder them. Can't have you stuck in jail now, can I?"

"Aww, babe, that's so considerate of you!"

Joking aside, Cartman felt like he was flying as Princess escorted him out of the warehouse, linking their arms together as if they were headed into a ballroom. The snow crunched satisfyingly as their steps fell into a unified march and part of him wished they could slow down so he could eke out this precious time. But he wanted to get into his toasty home as soon as possible; it was freezing even though Spring was finally merging into Summer. In a couple of weeks, he'd be eighteen. For some reason, he felt it necessary to blurt this fact out.

"Oh?" Princess remarked with an affectionate smile. "I'll have to buy you something extra special then."

"Sweet. When's your birthday?"

"You just missed it."

"When?"

"Eric…"

Cartman skipped as he ignored the protest. "Recent huh? So you're probably Gemini? That means we're totally compatible!"

"Haha, really?" Princess squeezed his arm and Cartman instinctively moved closer.

"Yeah, we're a bit too similar which can lead to fights, but once we work out each other's tics we're perfect together."

"You know a lot about this. You don't strike me as the type."

Cartman slowed slightly. "Meh, my ex was really into that shit and sometimes I had to listen to her go on about it."

Princess shivered.

"You want my jacket?" asked Cartman, shucking it off when his boyfriend nodded. "That piece of cloth is barely a trench coat. Why didn't you bring a decent jacket?"

"I found it in the dressing room. Didn't expect to be out in the cold tonight. I came in my car."

"You mean we could've gone home in a nice warm car?" Cartman yelled. "Why'd you leave it behind?" But it had dawned on him almost the second he had asked. "Oh I get it. Don't want me reading your plate."

Princess tapped his nose. "Got it in one. Beauty _and_ brains." They bumped together as he turned them towards the driveway leading to Cartman's house.

"Keep the coat. I'll get it next week," said Cartman as he groped around his pocket for his keys. Princess hesitated briefly but made no move to take it off. Cartman unlocked his front door with a nervous giggle. "Don't suppose you want to come in?"

"I really should get home."

"Got a King-size. You can make me eat my pillow," he said with a mischievous glint to his eye.

Princess's own reflected the glint, not that Cartman could see. "As wonderful as it would be to fuck y'all in a real bed, I have to decline. And you really should give your ass some rest. You don't want haemorrhoids. Believe me."

Cartman whined until he was pulled into an apologetic hug and kiss. Maybe Princess was saving a romantic bed fuck for his birthday. He'd turn up to his house unannounced, pull off his mask and they'd spend the whole day making love in his room for once.

Turn up to his house…

Eric drew back from the kiss sharply. "How'd you know this was my house?"

"You walked me here?"

"You turned into the driveway first," he whispered darkly. "And last week... You brought me here. I was barely conscious."

Princess didn't miss a beat. "Your learner's permit."

Cartman relaxed to the untrained eye. But Kyle knew him better than that. He'd finally made a mistake and it had put Cartman on edge.

Warily, Kyle kissed him again and watched him go inside before turning back the way he came. He didn't dare go home with Cartman's jacket. It would be just his luck that no matter how well he hid it, it would be found. He was already anxious about keeping his costume at home but he couldn't turn up to the wrestling club without a disguise.

Kyle ploughed on through the wet and cold. He knew he deserved a harsher punishment than having to trudge back to the bar in just holey sneakers and tights. From the looks of things, that time was going to be sooner than he feared.


	6. The Ways We Hide

Stan poked his head into Kyle's room hoping that he'd left out the textbook he needed for tomorrow's study group nearby. As close as they were, he always felt intrusive going into other people's rooms. He even knocked on Wendy's door and politely waited outside for permission, to her eternal frustration. It made planning anything romantic and sexy with a gag completely moot. Still, she appreciated his dedication to consent.

He didn't see what he needed to hand and he entered the room reluctantly, panning around. He hoped Kyle wasn't using it right now to revise. His mother said he was in the bathroom. Gross.

Stan snapped his fingers. He'd bet it was still in his backpack from school earlier. He yanked open the closet door and found it tucked away at the bottom with his shoes. "Got it!" he sang triumphantly when he found the book lurking in the second pocket. He slammed the door shut and a box landed on his head. "What the fuck?" he growled and rubbed his head where the corner had nicked him. At least it hadn't been heavy. He looked down at the mess.

"What the fuck…?" he repeated albeit a little more breathlessly and a whole lot more horrified.

Kyle said exactly the same thing when he walked in a few moments later.

Stan jumped up guiltily, trying to cover up the patch of powder foundation that had been embedded into the carpet. "I was going to clean it up before you got back. Kyle look, I don't know what's going on but whatever it is it's cool with me, dude. Or uh, dudette?"

Kyle shook his head and took the tutu that Stan was still nervously fiddling with and put it back inside its box with the rest of the outfit. "Jesus, Stan, it's nothing like that. I'll explain everything later tonight." He picked up a notebook and began to write something. "Come to this address, alone, around nine. And if anyone asks why you're there, do NOT mention me by name. Even if you see someone we know."

Stan took the paper, staring at him with wide concerned eyes. "Kyle, are you involved in something shady?"

"Yes," he admitted. "But it's not what you think." He swallowed a thick hiccough of bile, pressing his fingers to his mouth. "It's so much worse."

* * *

In a way it was a relief for it all to come out. He'd been desperate for someone to confide in, and Stan was really his only choice. But it was dangerous. Stan was Cartman's friend too and had an even higher moral standard than he did.

Definitely higher, if recent events were anything to go by.

He'd gotten a sick thrill from realising that Cartman was checking him out in the bar and yes he'd taken advantage of the situation. He hated himself for that. Cartman was led so easily to that back room, moaning melodically when the door shut and their lips met. Kyle hadn't even meant to go so far, just maybe let him jerk him off a little but the moment he remembered he had a condom in his sports bag, Cartman's fate was sealed.

Kyle would have loved to have said he did what he did out of some disturbing view of how romance works. But honestly, he'd wanted to humiliate Cartman from the start. Not publicly, just secretly. Between them. Both he and Cartman would know forever what had transpired and Cartman would never be able to hold anything over him again.

He'd kicked his legs apart and slipped a hand inside the acid washed jeans grabbing a fistful of whatever was on offer. "You ever done it with a guy?" he panted into his mouth, obscenely turned on. Cartman groaned something that sounded like 'no'. Kyle grinned and hissed, "Turn around and let's break in that bussy," into his ear and he cringed even now at what he'd said but Cartman's reaction surprised him at the time; he grew stronger almost dragging them towards the dressing table.

The way he stared at Princess when he cupped his cheek. Intrigued, nervous, excited, scared… a little shy.

Adorable. Eric Cartman was adorable.

And Kyle wanted to see that side of him always.

* * *

He wasn't the smartest guy in the world but it didn't take long for Stan to work out from the guys wandering around in masks and costumes (and Clyde three sheets to the wind a few seats down from him at the bar) that this was the underground wrestling league and although he recognised the outfit he hadn't quite prepared himself to see Kyle wearing the entire ensemble. It was disturbing to say the least.

Kyle approached him at the bar and ordered two gin and tonics. "You want another coke, kid?" he grunted in a strange voice.

"No thanks," Stan mumbled uncomfortably. He waited for the bartender to turn away before confirming what was obvious. "So you're a fighter here?"

Kyle nodded. "Call me Princess, or maybe P.B. would be better."

"P.B." he echoed, still staggered by what he was seeing. "How long have you been doing this?"

"Couple months. I wanted to get some money saved up for college so my parents wouldn't have to worry too much and when I heard Clyde mention this place it sounded fun. Like the wrestling we tried to do as kids, but real. I found most of the outfit in the attic from an old Halloween costume of my mom's. My moniker wrote itself at that point."

"This is wild, Kyle. I mean, P.B." Stan groaned. "How long are you going to do this?"

Kyle suddenly stood up from the crate, staring past his shoulder. "Remember what I told you, Stan. You're the only one who knows who I am."

Before Stan could enquire further, someone punched him in the arm and he turned to see Eric Cartman glaring furiously at him. He pushed past him and wound his arms around Kyle's waist. "Stanley," Cartman said courteously. "Nice to see you here."

Stan's eyes wouldn't move from their intimate contact, a million curses catching in his throat as it dawned on him what was going on. "So… _this_ is your boyfriend?" he asked slowly.

"No I like to throw my arms around strange guys for fun. Yes, this is my boyfriend and I don't appreciate you flirting with him."

"Our little friend here is obviously straight, Eric. Besides which…" Princess tucked his fingers delicately under Cartman's chin and stroked his nose with his thumb soothingly. "You should know by now I would never hurt you like that."

"Mm-kay," he sighed happily, subdued for the moment but he couldn't help shooting another glare Stan's way as he left with their drinks. "Don't leave me hanging, Princess," he called back as he went into the dressing room.

"I'll be there in a moment."

Stan stared at the closing door. "Dude," he finally said, cold as ice. "What the actual fuck. Please tell me this isn't what I think it is." Kyle's silence said it all. "How the Hell did this even happen?"

"It just sort of did," Kyle's voiced creaked through the hole in the mask. "It wasn't meant to go this far. I just wanted to mess with him."

"That's seriously fucked up! I expect this kind of shit from Cartman but-"

"That's why I did it!" Kyle suddenly yelped. "All the fucked up shit he's done to me over the years? Why shouldn't he be punished?"

"You're RAPING him," Stan said, trying to keep his voice lower than the feelings bubbling inside him wanted it to be. He wanted to grab him, slap some sense into him, yell right in his face.

"I'm not! I…" Kyle floundered for a moment and gripped the sticky bar top with white fingers. "You're right. I am. I'm disgusting." Stan didn't disagree with him. "The worst thing is I think he might be in love with me."

Stan sighed into his drink and watched the condensation travel down into his coke. "He loves an imaginary figure. If he knew it was you…" He stopped at the guttural sob Kyle emitted.

"Exactly," he whimpered. "He'd never feel the same way for me. And before I wouldn't have given a shit. Why should I want someone who doesn't want me? But God, Stan, he's so different around Princess. The way he looks at him. Like he's flawless, someone to worship, respect. He'd never look at me like that – respect me."

"Honestly? I don't respect you all that much either right now," Stan muttered. "Jesus. I think the love interests in old 80's teen comedies did less creepy things to 'get the girl'."

"I know. But I'm in love with him too."

"That's not a good reason."

Kyle wished Cartman hadn't taken their drinks. He needed something to toss down his aching throat. "There _is_ no good reason," he croaked.

"Look, if you want to be more than friends with Cartman then I'm rooting for you. But not like this."

"What am I supposed to do? He'll never date me while Princess is on the table."

"So take him off."

"I can't break up with him! Then he'll definitely try to find out who I am so he can murder me."

Stan's glass clinked against the bar as he set it down. "So you're raping him for your own safety."

"It sounds really stupid when you put it like that."

"Because it is. This has to stop. If you don't tell him, I will."

Kyle clutched his shoulders desperately. "Jesus Christ, don't tell him! You know the shit he does to me when he LIKES me. I don't want to imagine what he'll do if..."

"Relax. I won't tell him the truth. I'll just tell him that I found out Princess is married or something and then you can give up the wrestling. He never sees Princess again and you can make your move as yourself."

"I'll have to wait for my pubes to grow back."

Stan scrunched up his nose. "Do I want to know?"

Kyle chuckled. "I waxed so Cartman couldn't identify any hair patterns. And I keep my surgical scars covered."

"Smart."

"More like devious."

Stan downed his drink. "You two are a perfect match."


	7. The Hearts We Break

Cartman was pacing around the dressing room in clear agitation when Princess returned. He approached cautiously. "What's wrong, beautiful?"

"What was that about?"

"What was what about?"

"Stan Marsh. He another piece of jail-bait you're after?" Cartman stopped before the dressing table and glared at him through the mirror. "Or maybe you've already been there and done that. You were talking like you were old pals."

Kyle thought fast on his high heeled feet. "I know his sister, we had a few classes together. I wanted to see how she was doing, and him too I guess."

"Oh," said Cartman, unconvinced though it fit in with how old he assumed Princess was. "What about your manager?"

"My ma- seriously Eric?"

"He's always hanging around you," he scowled, arms folded.

"Because he's my _manager_. We have to talk sometimes. Eric, even if he were interested, I wouldn't be. I have you," Princess reassuringly said, his breath teasing Cartman's ear as he cuddled him from behind. Cartman didn't uncross his arms but his shoulders loosened. "They've both gone home anyway. And I'm done out there for the night so…"

The sentence needed no ending and Cartman swivelled around with a restrained grunt, dotting Princess's face and neck with kisses and walking them back towards the couch. He let Cartman take control and yank his costume this way and that as he configured their bodies into a comfortable position, getting involved only when he tried to feel up under the sides of the bodysuit. "Why do you keep your clothes on?" Cartman grumbled as it was tugged back into place.

"In case I need to leave in an emergency."

Cartman still thought it strange that he kept his abdomen covered but to each their own, he supposed. But then he got a wave of inspiration. "You got any scars, Princess?"

He pressed back against the cushions, anxiety quivering in his gut. "Nothing significant. Why?"

"Forget it, just curious." He got back to the job in hand, literally, licking the whole length of Princess's ample dick and brushing his lips across the underside of the circumcised head. Above him he heard a softly moaned curse and he deftly swirled his tongue faster.

It wasn't long before he was sat back proudly smearing warm thick come over the glittery tulle of the tutu. Princess pursed his mouth unhappily. "Now I have to get a new one."

"I think you mean 'thank you Eric for the most amazing blow job in the world, you're the most awesomest coolest hottest guy ever'."

Princes giggled and tugged him up for a kiss. "That too. But I think actions speak louder than words."

"What kind of action?"

"How about I return the favour?" he replied already moving to swap places. Cartman settled into the cushions, lifting his ass when prompted so Princess could slide his jeans past his thighs. Princess paused when he winced. "You okay?"

"Ha, yeah. You just caught me a little on the fly. I'm already really fucking hard."

"Well, then there's no point in belabouring things is there?" Princess smiled taking a sensitive ball into his mouth and rolling it around.

Cartman pressed the heel of his hands into his eyes to hinder his desire to scream, completely ruined by Princess's finger and thumb edging the tip of his cock. "The whole… fucking… bar… is gonna know…" he gasped.

"I don't think it'd exactly be news to them, beautiful." said Princess after releasing his balls with a wet smack. "But I can stop if you like."

Cartman looked hazily down at where a line of spittle still joined Princess's mouth to his flesh. "I will fucking kill you if you stop." His head fell back with a satisfied murmur as he was swiftly obeyed.

But he couldn't help his mind being plagued by Stan's sudden presence at the bar and how when he'd opened the dressing room door a crack Princess had been stood close to him, the pair speaking low and earnestly. And he wasn't imagining things about the manager. He clearly didn't like them together, and it was more than the casual homophobia of the others who worked here.

If he just knew who Princess was then maybe the pieces of the puzzle would fall into place. _If I just knew who he was…_

Cartman tucked his fingers at the nape of the mask and pulled.

* * *

It might have been Kyle's well-honed fighting skills that alerted him early to the chubby fingers under his mask or plain old luck but he reacted instantly jumping backwards and retreating behind the dressing table. Cartman rightfully panicked. "I didn't mean to. I mean I did but… I'm sorry, I got carried away, honest! Please Princess!"

Kyle crouched down behind the dressing table tucking his hair back under his mask. Saw an opportunity he had to take even though it was agonising. "Get out, Eric. We're over."

Cartman went numb. "Because of that? Are you kidding?"

"Do you know how dishonourable it is to remove a wrestler's mask? You said you could live with this. I can't trust you ever again."

"I just want to know who you are Princess, please," he sobbed. "I love you!"

Kyle felt like crying too. He tried to keep his voice steady, deep. How Princess should sound, and not like the scared little boy he was. "It's over, Eric."

"I'm not leaving."

Kyle left the safety of his hidey hole and faced the steadfast and dour Cartman. They stood calmly regarding one another. The eerie silence broken only by the choked hiccoughs Cartman's despair wrought upon him. Then he moved, a big mistake, and charged at Kyle with all the desperation of any heartbroken boy. Kyle had faced enough lariats in his short-lived career and easily countered it sending Cartman to the floor as gently as possible. He'd hurt him enough already. Kyle stepped over him as he lay wheezing on the floor and called out the door for security. "Careful," he told them, leaving the room without looking back, "He's usually got at least a knife on him.

They tossed Cartman, raging and struggling and bawling, out into the snowy night.

* * *

Cartman barely acknowledged the others at study group on Saturday. He didn't want to be there at all, of course he didn't, but he was determined not to change his plans for the weekend. He told them he dumped his boyfriend before they could start pestering about him and made it thoroughly clear that he didn't want to talk about it. As much as Cartman normally relished attention, pity was the last thing he wanted.

Kyle turned up late and found him face down at Stan's kitchen table whilst Kenny, Stan and Wendy went out to pick up lunch. He sat opposite and picked at the meal he brought with him nervously. "Want some?"

"Nyup," he said sourly into the wood grain.

"Kenny said you broke up with Peanut Butter."

Cartman raised his head. "Peanut Butter?"

"Is that not his name? Stan said he was called P.B."

"P.B. stands for Princess Ballerina," he snapped.

Kyle smirked. "Because that's SO much better."

"If you're here to make fun of me, go for it. I can't feel anything anymore. He broke my heart."

"Really?" Kyle whispered guiltily as Cartman sank back down.

"Surprised that I have one to break?"

"Not at all. I just wanted to say I'm here for you, if and when you want to talk about it."

"No thanks."

"Why not?"

"Because you're a dirty, underhanded Jew."

Kyle flinched. For once in their life he was proving Cartman right. "I'm just trying to be nice to you and you throw it back in my face. Why do you always have to be like that with me?"

"I can think of a hundred reasons."

"Sensible ones? Not bullshit to do with my genes or my religion?"

"How about Heidi? That's a good reason," he snarled with a murderous look.

"How about Nicole?" Kyle retorted. "I actually liked her; you never gave a shit about Heidi."

"That's not the point, Kahl. You don't mow another guy's lawn. Bro Code!"

"You didn't even want that fucking lawn. Why do you care if I want to play on it?"

"Because it was MYENE!" he shrieked, almost knocking over the table as he stood to grab at Kyle's jacket.

He pre-empted the move and had already backed up towards the kitchen counters. "Jesus, you're such a fucking baby, Cartman. And look at us, talking about the poor girl like she's a fucking action figure we couldn't learn to share."

"I think you're smart enough to know this isn't about you. Or Heidi," Cartman said, slumping back into his seat. "I honestly don't care about that anymore."

"If it's any consolation, I did feel bad about breaking the Bro Code. I just wanted to…"

"Be Mr. Hero." Cartman buried his face in his arms. "So very you."

"It hurts you know. When you act like you're ashamed to be my friend. I'm always defending _you_."

"Except when you're not."

"Did P.B. defend you when you were being shitty to _him_?"

Cartman sent him a look that suggested he had homicide on the mind again and he was surprised when barely a second later it melted into tears. "I wasn't, at least not until last night. Maybe that's why he put up with me. Princess liked me because he didn't actually know me. I guess he wasn't the only one wearing a mask." He wiped his face dry. "Ew, was that as cliché as it sounded?"

"Yep, but it isn't true. You were probably your real self with him. In fact I'd bet we're the ones who only ever see a mask from you, Cartman."

He nodded. "It was my own fault. I took him for granted."

"Wow."

"What?"

Kyle smiled sweetly. "I just never thought I'd see the day Eric Cartman admitted he was responsible for something."

Cartman scoffed half-heartedly.

"But, if you'll forgive me a little selfishness I'm glad you broke up, and not because I like seeing you like this."

"Then why?"

"Well I was thinking… not right now but maybe later on when you're over him…" Kyle gazed shyly through his long lashes at him. "I thought I could take you on a date."


	8. The Thoughts We Share

Cartman threw back his head and howled with incredulous laughter at the offer. "Wow," said Kyle sombrely. "Right in my fucking face, thanks a lot dude."

"Oh man." Cartman pulled out his phone as his sniggering waned. "I've got to tell the group chat this one."

Kyle slapped it out of his hand. "Why is it so funny? I'm wearing my heart on my sleeve here."

"If I were you I'd tuck it back behind your Jew gold where it belongs. Why would I want to date you?"

Right in that moment he wanted to tell him everything. Wipe the smug grin off his stupid fat face. "Am I that repulsive?"

The grin fell away by itself and twisted into a confused grimace. "Kyle we... we wouldn't work. You're too sensitive."

"I'M sensitive?!"

They both started at the sound of the door thrown open and Wendy's voice carrying through from the hallway. "We're back! Is Kyle here yet?"

Kyle ignored them for the moment and leaned over the table stopping a few inches short of Cartman's face. He didn't move away, infuriatingly curious about what Kyle was up to. There was no way this was for real. It wouldn't be long before the others came in; Kyle decided to lay his cards on the table. "I like you, Cartman. You're smart, if a little naïve. Cute, but bold. Big," he smirked, "in all the right places."

Cartman realised he'd stopped breathing.

"And I think if you were more honest with yourself you'd admit you like me too."

"Someone's pretty cocky."

"Put it this way Cartman; you haven't given me a decent reason. You haven't said you don't want me."

Something about the scene itched of familiarity but before Cartman could rummage around in his memory banks Stan came into the room and raised his eyebrows at the boys' close proximity and the tense atmosphere curling around them. "Well," said Kyle, standing straight but never taking his eyes from Cartman's, "if you ever want to see for yourself how _cocky_ I can be, you know where I am."

At that he picked up his text books and began to flip through them as if nothing had happened.

* * *

The distorted reflection stared back at him from his locker door before he slammed it shut in frustration. He'd spent the whole weekend in a disconcerting limbo thinking about the love of his life versus his best frenemy.

Princess and Kyle were so different. Princess was cool, collected, commanding. Kyle was sweet and shy and no, of course he wasn't a pushover or anything but the thought of letting him treat him the way Princess did...

Thrust up against the wall.

Being forced down on all fours.

Kyle's breath at his ear.

Cartman had never tried thinking of that before and he was alarmed to find it wasn't entirely unappealing.

Even though Kyle was ginger and had a big nose, he was kind of handsome – made all the more so for his recent shift in attitude lately. He had a strange new air of confidence that had bled through into his everyday mannerisms and it was very attractive, especially to someone like Cartman. And he could be seen in public with Kyle. He could take him home to his mom. He could swap presents with him over the holidays. He could look Kyle in the eyes whilst they fucked.

He opened the locker so he could slam it again. It was no good. He wanted to do those things with Princess.

"Hey Cartman," Stan said from behind him as he slammed the locker a third time. "How are you doing?"

Cartman shucked his backpack onto his shoulder and considered ignoring Stan. He still didn't trust his relationship with Princess, but in time Stan could help lead him to his real identity. That would be useful when he finally decided what to do about him. It was best to stay on good terms for now. "Kyle asked me out."

"Already!?" Stan clamped his hand over his mouth, horrified.

"He talked to you about it?" Cartman asked, genuinely surprised.

"He was worried about you," Stan said carefully. Kyle was going to owe him a lot for all the bullshitting he was going to have to do around Cartman. But the lies were a safer option for everyone involved. "Besides, I think it might be good for you to focus on something else."

"You mean someone else."

"I'm not saying date him. I know you're still a little raw over your boyfriend. But if anyone can handle you at your worst it's Kyle. As guys go he might be a good choice."

"As guys go he's my only choice."

"That doesn't mean you have to take it."

"I don't get it – do you want us together or not?"

Stan slammed his own locker. "Honestly, I don't know."

"Pissed off that I fagged up your Bestie?" Cartman sneered.

He simply smiled. "Just promise me that whatever happens between you guys, you won't make any rash decisions. You might annoy me a lot of the time, but I do care about what happens to you."

"Fucking hippy," was Cartman's only answer. Stan shrugged it off, knowing there was no point waiting around for gratitude and walked off down the hall.

* * *

As much as he felt Princess deserved it, Cartman was too heartbroken to plan his murder. So what _was_ he going to do with his time now? Try thinking about Kyle.

Kyle. Kyle wanted him. _Kyle_. And if the excruciatingly hard dick he'd had in his hands last night was any indication he wanted him too.

Kyle was upfront with him. Honest. Not like Princess. And God the flirting that was thrown his way the previous day every time they had a moment together. A knee-brush here and an over-the-shoulder-leer there. Kyle sat opposite to him at lunch and ate his food slowly and with far too much emphasis on his tongue.

He should wait a few days so it wasn't so obviously a rebound. Maybe he should wait until after Friday. Talk to Princess. Maybe if he knew there was competition he'd come crawling back. Better yet he could take Kyle to the bar for their date. It would be the perfect power move.

But he still loved Princess. He didn't want to hurt him. He wanted to talk to him, let him know what was going on, how he felt.

Ugh, when did he get so… lame.

By Wednesday morning, after waking up from a particularly obscene dream about dreidel-shaped butt plugs he had decided and cornered Kyle before school started. Kyle smiled serenely at him as he lumbered towards him down the empty hall.

"Hey Kahl. Uh, it's my birthday Saturday."

"I know. Been the same date for a few years now," he joked.

"Just wanted you to know you're invited to my usual basement party. But I also thought maybe we could hang out the night before. Alone. Without the others."

"Like a date?"

"If you want to call it that."

"Do _you_ want to call it that?"

Cartman looked up when Kyle squeezed his elbow lightly. "Maybe. So you free Friday around seven?"

"There's nothing I couldn't cancel," Kyle beamed, forgetting himself and leaning down for a kiss. It was only the slightest meeting of mouths but Cartman gasped at the intrusion. "Sorry," Kyle stuttered, springing back.

Cartman nodded, stunned. He hadn't been entirely confident about going on a date with Kyle. It was an experiment to help him get over Princess. But if that kiss was anything to go by; it may have been barely a peck on the lips but it was hot as Hell. It reminded him of the kisses Princess gave him when he left at the end of the night.

 _Used to give him._

Cartman grabbed Kyle's collar and pulled them flush against the lockers, knocking his ushanka to the floor as he drove a hungry tongue into his mouth. He grinned at Kyle's squeak of surprise and entangled his curls around his fingers eliciting a further more pained sound.

* * *

"Holy shit!" Kenny screamed. "Right there against the lockers?" He was equally delighted and mortified – delighted at the scenario and mortified that he'd missed it.

Stan grumbled and stabbed at his lunch.

"Who else saw?"

"Practically everyone who could be bothered to turn up to school on time, _Kenny_ ," Wendy remarked pointedly.

"What did they do?"

Wendy gave Kenny the rest of her lunch. "Ran off. To the janitor's closet according to Kyle."

"To finish up?" Kenny grinned and raised one eyebrow suggestively. Stan pushed away his lunch too, for different reasons. He hadn't wanted to ask but that was probably exactly why.

In truth, whilst it was Cartman's intention as threw open the closet door and shoved Kyle inside, their frantic kisses promptly toned down into long languid making-out. His attempts to further things by rubbing his hand against Kyle's groin were met with apologetic resistance.

"We should slow down, Cartman. You've only just broken up with that guy."

"What do you care if you're a rebound? You still get what you want," Cartman sighed into his mouth.

Kyle drew back and cupped his face. The squares of light in his eyes shone. "What I want is for you to be happy. And I've got plenty of time to make that happen."

"What about our date? I thought you could make me a birthday breakfast."

"You thought I was staying the night? What kind of a slut do you think I am?"

"One that makes me breakfast. And pays for dinner the night before."

Kyle rolled his eyes. "I didn't expect otherwise," he retorted, kissing Cartman's cheek. "And you'll definitely get at least a blow job for your birthday."

"Sweet," Cartman purred contentedly. "But maybe you're right we should go slower. I don't want to wreck your o-ring on your first night out."

"What makes you think you're topping?" Kyle teased. "Your ass is mine, Fat-boy."

"Uh, I don't think so, fucking Jew," Cartman snickered and pushed them out of the closet.


	9. The Plans We Hatch

Another week and another complaint and he was getting bored of it. There was a small spark of light in the dull room as he struck a match and brought it up to his cigarette, peering over his hands as he cupped the flame protectively from the gentle waves of a nearby ventilation unit. "Perhaps if you two were a little more fiscally productive, I wouldn't have to keep a drag queen around for my main attraction."

"But he's treating this place like a gay love hotel," Brass Monkey scowled.

"What's a love hotel?" asked Snakebite innocently.

Before the other wrestler could answer, their manager slammed his free hand down on the dressing table. "I don't care if he bends over every teenage boy in South Park back here; we've been fucking rolling in money ever since he started. We've never been this busy. Everyone comes to gawk at the queer and everyone stays for the drink and the bets. And I want to keep it that way. You got a problem with him – fight better."

"People are gonna eventually start changing their bets to him."

"These hicks aren't ever going to be able to bring themselves to bet on someone like him. They'd rather lose than back a fag." He shook his head with a merry laugh. "But they won't leave either. It's a car crash situation, and it's beautiful."

The pair of them moaned unhappily.

"Stop bitching. You get paid either way, win or lose."

Brass Monkey tapped his masked face. "It's about honour, sir."

"Then I repeat," he growled and a plume of smoke sinuously swept up the sides of his face, "fight better. It's not my fault you keep getting beaten by a girl." His phone vibrated in his pocket and he turned away from them to answer. "Ah," he cooed at the caller ID. "There's the little poof now."

"What's a poof?" Snakebite asked though he was still waiting on his last question. Brass Monkey pulled him up from his seat carefully motioning for him to be quiet when their boss was talking.

"Excuse me?!" the manager yelled at the phone and the two men almost fell over one another trying to escape the room before he got violent and took it out on them. "What do you mean you're not coming Friday? You QUIT?!"

"Oh Jesus," Snakebite winced once they were at the safety of the bar.

Brass Monkey poured him a medicinal shot of something strong. "Leg still fucked?"

"Uh, yes! I got fucking stabbed. Of course it's still fucked."

"Yeah, well, I told you going after the fat kid was going to be nothing but trouble. You're just lucky Moscow was willing to take over your next fight."

Snakebite sipped placidly for a few moments, swirling around the amber restorative. "You really think he quit?" he murmured inclining his head towards the dressing room.

Brass Monkey laughed and the heat of his drink sloshed around his belly satisfyingly. "He can try…"

* * *

For some reason Kyle couldn't get rid of his burn phone. Maybe because once he got rid of his costume it would be his only tie to his previous life with Eric. He didn't dare leave it at home either. He had no idea if the wrestling league had a way of tracking it and if they did he'd rather his family didn't get involved. Leaving it off permanently would be the sensible option but he wanted to keep an eye on their plans for Cartman. He knew they would be stupid enough to brag before trying to pull anything off. But he didn't want it buzzing throughout his date either so he put it on silent and shoved it into his jacket pocket out of sight and out of mind.

He checked his reflection in the hallway mirror anxiously. He could finally forego the make-up as his bruises were all gone and his lip barely had a scar. He pulled the plump flesh under his teeth and frowned at himself.

His first official date with a guy.

His first official date with Eric Cartman.

He felt nauseous and it made him think of Stan, looking at him stony-faced and unfeeling when he saw him driving Cartman home from school on Wednesday. He barely acknowledged him all of Thursday and on Friday he seemed to be deliberately aiming for him during dodgeball.

Cartman meanwhile seemed to have cooled down after their kiss in the hall. Kyle did his best to subtly flirt with him during class and lunch but it was met with mellow tolerance. Kyle finally realised he had moved too fast. Cartman was still hurting and he was only making things worse by being a temporary distraction. He hated when Stan was right.

* * *

Kyle arrived at the theatre to find Cartman looking over the show list. "What do you feel like seeing?" he queried after greeting him with a kiss.

Cartman pressed his cheek thoughtfully where the presence of Kyle's lips still warmed his skin. "I haven't seen the new Terrance and Phillip."

"That's not very romantic."

"Fine, you pussy, we'll watch something where Sandra Bullock looks sad and then her boyfriend dies."

"No it's okay. We'll see whatever you want. It's your birthday."

"Sweet," Cartman grinned and rubbed his hands together. "You go get the tickets and I'll line up for snacks. Gimme money."

Kyle took his card out for the tickets and gave his wallet to Cartman, watching with a dismal sigh as he bounded to the concession stand. He checked both his phones whilst he was gone. The usual abuse from the bar owner about what would happen if he didn't turn up tonight was there on one, and a surprise message from Stan on the other.

 **Enjoy your date.**

It was evidently saturated with sarcasm and revulsion – Stan never used punctuation unless he could help it. He must be planning to have stern words with him tomorrow at Cartman's party. Kyle was prepared for that. He just hoped it wouldn't turn into a big altercation that would ruin Cartman's big day.

He bought two tickets for 'My Father's Farter' and saw that Cartman was already leaving the stand with his goodies. "Damn dude, you cleaned out my wallet," Kyle whined as he opened the empty case.

"Oh I'm sorry, am I not worth a few kernels of popcorn and a large soda?"

"Cartman, that's not all you bought. I can see your pockets practically overflowing with candy."

"So I indulged a little, sue me – you'd be good at that, Jew." He leant in to Kyle with a wicked grin. "And between you and me I was kind enough to save you a few bucks. I only paid for some of it."

Kyle felt like groaning and pinching the bridge of his nose but he kept shtum and simply led the way to their viewing room and chose a spot that was moderately private without being too high up, not that Kyle believed for a second that they were going to start groping one another in the back of a theatre, not when there was food in the way. Cartman crunched his way through a third of the popcorn before the trailers had even finished.

It was as the opening credits music filled the room with a painful resonation that he glanced over at his date hogging the snacks all for himself and realised he was on a date with Cartman, the boy that had ridiculed and antagonised him all his childhood, and not with Eric, the young man that adored and cherished him for a mere but wonderful two months.

Princess and Eric worked. Kyle and Cartman didn't.

Things were even more of a mess now and he had no idea what to do.

* * *

He had inadvertently caused his own pain through an act of kindness. After hanging up on his manager Kyle received text messages almost every hour of the day full of the threats he had expected. He was glad he had been savvy enough to keep his identity a secret from absolutely everyone and that none of the other wrestlers could track him down.

He had forgotten they knew Cartman. Thursday lunchtime was when the first threat that made him sit up and take notice came through.

 **How about if we pay the fat boy a visit would that get your attention fag?**

Kyle clutched the phone to his chest, his mind a flurry of scenarios that didn't end well. He texted back, thumbs shaking harder and harder with each press of the screen.

 **Eric can handle anything you throw at him. It's YOU who should be scared of HIM.**

Kyle wasn't exactly wrong, but caught unawares Cartman could be in trouble. If for some reason he didn't have his knife on him; or worse, if he was over-armed and went too far Cartman would go from Princess's jail-bait to jail-bird. As soon as he got home he used his normal phone to find Cartman's number and began to write a message on his burn phone.

 **Eric, don't ask how I got this number. I've decided not to fight anymore. I can't win without you by my side. My manager isn't happy and he's threatening to hurt you. I promise to watch over you whenever I can, but I wanted you to know so you can stay alert. I want you to be safe. I'm sorry for the way things ended. I'll always love you.**

The moment Cartman read the message, his resolve broke. Princess still cared about him. There was a chance for them yet. He hugged his phone with a gleeful giggle, kicking so hard that his cat flew off his bed in shock.

He made new plans; he'd go out with Kyle, get what he wanted and as soon as he found Princess he'd dump the little dumbass and go be with his true love. Revenge and sex all in one package and maybe Princess would learn that Eric wasn't the sort of man who was going to sit around crying and eating Häagen Dazs and letting his ass go unused.

At least, not for long.

* * *

"You've been a miserable bitch all night, what's up with you?" Cartman snapped as he perused the menu on the wall of the KFC they had stopped by after the movie, even though he nearly always ordered the same thing.

"Sorry. I'm just tired, I guess," said Kyle.

"If you're trying to get out of sucking my dick, you've got another thing _coming_."

A woman in the queue ahead of them clamped her hands over her young son's ears and turned around to glare at them furiously. "Do you mind?"

"Sure, you can suck my dick instead but I'm afraid I'll be too faggy to enjoy it," Cartman sneered and she huffed, leading her son away crying for his renounced dinner.

"You're such an asshole," Kyle grouched.

"Thanks to me we've jumped ahead in the line – that's a good thing!"

"I take it I'm paying for this too."

"That's so sweet of you to offer Kahl. You've been so generous tonight I'm beginning to suspect you're not Jewish at all. Anyway, you already promised to pay for everything, remember?"

Kyle gritted his teeth into a smile.


	10. The Dreams We Have

It was a familiar scene as Kyle stood shivering in Cartman's coat outside his house as he unlocked the front door, but there were a few glaring differences. For one thing, Kyle had adopted the coat with a large amount of reluctance from Cartman and much begging on his part and he fumed internally at how accommodating and generous Eric used to be for Princess. Secondly, tonight he couldn't refuse Cartman's offer to go inside. He owed him a lot more than a blow job, but it seemed a good place to start.

Kyle hadn't hung out with Cartman much since he found himself preferring his own company. Kyle had largely hung out with so many other kids when he was younger from a fear of being known as the weird loner. Drifting into his teens he relished the appellation and happily abandoned the loose ties and kept only those he felt close to, like Stan. He remained pleasant and conversational with his schoolmates only to make paired and group projects agreeable. He could have cut all ties with Cartman (and desperately wanted to) if it wasn't for Kenny bringing him to their study group, feeling sorry for him failing most of his classes, even if it was his own lazy fault. Kyle, Stan and Wendy shared the same withering glances every time Kenny turned up with him and eventually stopped voicing their disapproval to the point where Cartman felt secure enough to turn up of his own accord.

Cartman's house looked much the same as it always had and still had a faint background aroma of baked cookies (and what they didn't realise until they were much older was weed) and Kyle sank into the deteriorating couch whilst Cartman locked up.

"Don't get too comfortable. We're not doing this down here," Cartman remarked as he hung up his gloves and hat. "Going for a shower first. Help yourself to whatever."

"Want anything?" asked Kyle as he headed for the kitchen, but he got no answer. Kyle pottered around the room and found everything he needed where he expected it from the last time he had been there and a fresh cup of green tea was soon warming his hands as he made his way up the stairs. He perched on the edge of Cartman's mattress and looked at the pale rectangles on his walls where he had started to change the décor. Glancing at the trash can beside the bed he saw that they were from old wrestling posters Cartman had torn down. He sipped at the tea. Bitter.

Cartman ambled back in wearing a bathrobe and tightened it self-consciously when he saw Kyle snooping through the photos on his bedside table. Kyle smiled up at him. "I didn't know people still had pictures in frames."

"They're old."

"Tell me about it. What were we here – eight?"

Cartman flipped the picture face down. "Who cares?"

"I just thought it was nice," Kyle said. "That you had fond enough memories of those days to keep pictures. You always seemed like you hated everything and everyone."

"Nope, just you. And your bitch-mom," he added, and grinned as if he had said something awfully hilarious He grew concerned when Kyle simply shrugged it off and finished his beverage with one long gulp. Shaking away the thought of how hot Kyle's mouth would be on his dick after drinking that, he plumped up his pillows and nestled into them with his arms behind his head. "Want a shower or anything first?"

"I'm good." Kyle knelt between Cartman's feet and hated how awkward the scenario felt compared to sex before. His jealously overflowed at how Princess and Eric melted into one another easily; fused body and heart and soul and stole breaths from one another and shared bruises and scratches and cries and screams of delight and delirium.

Cartman watched gleefully as his cock filled his Jew's mouth. He pushed away the ushanka Kyle always wore and seized the rarely seen curls beneath. Tears pricked at the back of Kyle's eyes as his gag-reflex triggered. Cartman swore as the other boy relaxed his throat and took him deeper. He'd love to see Princess's reaction to this.

Lashes firmly pressed against his cheeks and silent apart from the occasional hum of subdued enjoyment, Kyle fellated for a few minutes, trying to simultaneously show Cartman a good time yet not use any moves that might seem too much like Princess's specialities. Feeling Cartman getting close, Kyle pulled off then and took a ball into his mouth, stroking him until he'd used every rude word he knew and warm liquid jets splashed across his stomach.

"Fuck Jew, how many dicks you had before me?" Cartman panted.

"You're the first," Kyle said in a half-truth.

Cartman looked down at him with raised eyebrows. "Then you're some kind of oral savant. Damn. You're almost as good as… uh." He sensibly shut his mouth a little too late.

Kyle swallowed the lump in his throat – hard and hot and jagged – and sat up abruptly. "Almost. I'll take that as a compliment."

"I guess that _was_ a shitty thing to say after a great B.J. My bad."

Knowing that was as close to an apology as he'd get, Kyle got up to go home.

"You're leaving?" Cartman whinged when he saw Kyle reach for his hat. "What about my breakfast?"

"I didn't bring any night clothes."

"Sleep naked – it's casual Friday!"

Kyle scratched at his stubbly tummy. He couldn't let Cartman see him, especially downstairs. He was naïve but he wasn't stupid. He might work things out.

"You're seriously going to leave me alone on my birthday?"

He looked over at Cartman's alarm clock. 00.11. – it actually was his birthday. "Okay, but after breakfast I need to go home and change. I'm not hanging out with everyone looking like shit."

"You won't look like shit, you'll look like a slut that puts out on a first date."

 _And what exactly does that say about YOU, Eric Theodore Cartman_ , Kyle thought snidely remembering him hunched over keening and begging for his cock at the dressing room table. He tugged off his jeans and slipped under the covers so he could be warm as he watched Cartman clean himself up.

"There's spare toothbrushes in the medicine cabinet," Cartman hinted before he buried his face into his pillow and tried to drift away. Kyle got up with a sigh. This detached feeling after such intimacy between them was the loneliest thing he'd ever experienced.

He was a poor substitute for himself.

* * *

Eric opened his eyelids at the sensation of lips brushing his hair from his forehead. His bed was somehow in the back room of the bar and Princess's shining mask was leaning over him. The wrestler softly shushed his confused murmur and moved to between his thighs, lifting them and rubbing their cocks together as he bowed forward to kiss him. He wasn't sure how or when but Eric moaned as he realised Princess was inside him and expertly finding his most sensitive spot each time he aimed for it. His hands wandered down past the broad shoulders and dug into the taut ass as it flexed and bulged with every thrust.

"I missed you, Eric."

 _Liar._

"I love you, Eric."

 _Fucking liar._

Cartman brought his hands back up to the gossamer-clothed sides and felt cool wood materialise in his hand and let it plunge down, the steel end scraping against bone as it sliced through flesh. Princess inhaled sharply and Cartman pulled back to see hazel eyes dilate and red curls merge with redder blood as it spluttered from Kyle's mouth. The body above him went limp and he held it lovingly as the warmth faded.

"Happy birthday to me…"

* * *

Cartman woke with a start, the bright morning light stinging tears into his eyes or perhaps it was the dream that did it; either way he felt deflated and he flopped over to admire his new bedfellow in hopes of erasing his heartache. It seemed like the dream had been telling him something and he wasn't sure what. Maybe it was trying to make sense of last night. It had been confusing for sure. As a date, it had been as miserable as most of the ones he'd spent with Heidi. But in bed – _holy shit_ – he wasn't going to give that up so readily. He took out his phone and hoped Princess hadn't blocked his number.

 **Thx 4 the warning but im fine. Had a hot little redhed sukin my D last nite. Jelly?**

Satisfied with his taunt, he looked over at Kyle drowning and curling into himself from the lost warmth of Cartman's body wrapped around him and rectified the situation, nibbling the back of his neck in the way Princess used to love. Kyle stirred instantly and turned to nuzzle into him.

"Rise and shine, ginger-nut. I want bacon and pancakes and maple syrup. I'm sure your little Canuck brother has taught you how to make that."

"Can't," Kyle mumbled sleepily. "Bacon. Jewish."

"You can't even cook it? Fucking lame religion."

"Never tried." Kyle sat up and stretched, confused to be waking up with Cartman in a bed rather than the old couch at the bar.

"Not much to get wrong. So long as it's not black, I'll eat it. Same goes for dicks, funny enough."

Kyle shot him a tired, exasperated look but obediently pulled his jeans back on and made for the bathroom. Close to an hour later Cartman woke to a half-decent plate of food next to his bed and the sight of Kyle decked out in his outdoor clothes and Cartman's jacket. "I'll be back to help set up for your party."

"What set up? It's the same thing every year since we got pubes. Mom leaves out food and drink and Kenny brings the drugs."

"I wouldn't know."

"Oh yeah, you never come." Cartman chewed a piece of bacon thoughtfully. "Talking of coming… as good as your mouth is I've changed my mind about my present from you. I want a birthday fuck."

Kyle buttoned up the coat. "Maybe after the party."

"You're seriously going to turn into a frigid bitch _now_?"

"I told you I think we should go slow."

"Slow?! We're fucking standing still! I need something to wash out the bad taste of that bastard and you're my only choice, Kahl."

Kyle seethed and spat out, "That – that right there! That's what I'm talking about. I love you Eric, I want this to be real. I don't want to be HIS replacement."

"Well tough luck, Jew, because that's exactly what you are. Until he's gone I can't love anyone else." Cartman's head began to hurt. That's what the dream meant. He'd never get over Princess and move on. Not while the merry little asshole walked free. He stared at Kyle curiously. "Did you just say you love me?"

Kyle covered his mouth, too embarrassed to confirm it. He sat on the end of the bed with a heavy sigh. "I'm sorry he hurt you," he said finally.

Cartman ignored his pounding head and focused on Kyle's fingers turning white as death as they dug into the covers. "Not as sorry as he'll be."

"What do you mean?"

Now that the idea had ratooned from the corners of his mind Cartman couldn't stop it from stampeding out of his mouth. It was perfect, it solved all his problems. "You want me – then prove it. Avenge me." His salty-sweet lips hovered short of Kyle's as his magnificent plan unfurled itself. "I want you to kill Princess."


	11. The Sins We Face

"You want me to kill Princess," Kyle repeated, blank-faced. Cartman gazed at him and almost wriggled with impatient excitement. There were two ways – at least to Cartman's mind – the whole thing could play out if Kyle agreed; Princess would destroy him (probably not kill him if Cartman knew him the way he thought he did) and Kyle would slope off and give up on Cartman for his own safety. Princess would crawl back to Cartman having seen the error of his ways and Cartman would let him beg for his ass until he was hoarse just to teach him a further lesson. Of course he'd have to get a few decent fucks out of Kyle first. It'd be a shame not to explore such a natural talent.

Or maybe Kyle would win and as heartbroken as Cartman would be to have the love of his life murdered, it saved him the task. Because although no-one dumps Eric Cartman and gets away with it, he knew deep down he could never go through with it himself, despite his dream. Delegation was the key here, and Kyle seemed to be a willing pawn.

Whatever the outcome, he was the spoils to the victor, and that was a huge compliment for his ego.

"You're not above murder, Jew. I know you're not. So will you do it?"

"Fuck no I'm not doing it!" Kyle exclaimed in horror as his emotions finally surfaced for air.

"You're not going to kill him after what he did? What kind of love is that?" Cartman snapped back askance.

"A sane one! If you loved me you wouldn't ask me to do something like this!"

"I DON'T love you, that's the point." He regretted the harsh words when Kyle turned away, eyes full to the brim with ready-to-spill tears. He pushed aside his plate and clasped Kyle's hands in his whispering, "Look at me."

Kyle wrenched them back and wiped his face.

"What I mean is: I don't love you because I _can't_ love you. Not until he's gone. Then I can be free. _We_ can."

"And I suppose I'm doing this by myself," Kyle croaked, aware that Cartman was in full manipulation mode by the dulcet tones and his saccharine speech. "What am I supposed to do with the body?"

"I don't give a shit. Dump it in a river, burn it, pass it around at the next chilli cook-off."

"You don't want evidence that I went through with it?"

Cartman's stomach lurched at the thought of seeing Princess's actual corpse outside of an oneiric fantasy but instead he blamed the sub-par bacon for his nausea. "I trust you, even though you're a Jew. I think you're smart enough not to let him live and risk me meeting him again. You of all people know what happens when I feel I've been made a fool of."

Kyle mumbled something back as his hands passed over his mouth and it took Cartman a moment to realise he'd agreed.

"You fucking cereal?"

"I am. If this is what it takes for you to move on and be mine, then I'll kill Princess." Kyle almost slid off the mattress when Cartman flew at him for a hug and kiss. Bewildered, he tried to laugh it off and kissed him back. "Cartman, your breakfast is going everywhere."

"That's fine, it sucked anyway."

"There's gratitude for you," Kyle sulked. "Hope you're not like this after I commit murder for you."

Cartman shook his head fervently. "No way, I'm super-psyched! Need any weapons? Guy like that you don't want to go close-combat."

"Actually I… have a gun."

"No. Fucking. Way. You, a gun?"

Kyle shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. "Just a Glock. Nothing major."

"I think I'm getting a boner just thinking about you with a gun," Cartman swooned. "Why've you got a gun?"

"I got it so that if I finally caught you sneaking into my room I could pop a cap in your ass."

"Me?" Cartman gasped playfully. "Sneak into your room? Perish the thought!"

"Cartman…"

He leaned closer. "Even if I did do that, and even if you did catch me, I'd rather you popped something else in my ass."

"Hmm?" Kyle murmured as Cartman's lips found his once again. "Changed your tune. I thought you said you wanted to wreck me."

"Let's just say vengeance is the best lube for my butt ever invented." Cartman smirked as his lips also found a ticklish spot on Kyle's neck that made him writhe so much that he hardly noticed he was suddenly pinned down on the bed as Cartman, still naked from last night, rubbed his cock up and down his thigh. "Kahl… Fuck…"

"Cartman," Kyle groaned, grudgingly pushing him off. "I need to go. And you just got syrup all over your coat." He pulled his elbow off of the sticky plate.

"Fine," Cartman grumbled under his breath and snuggled back under the toasty covers. "I'm too full for your dick anyway, haven't had my morning crap yet."

Kyle rolled his eyes. "And on that incredibly sexy note, I'm leaving." With one last kiss, he shucked off the stained jacket and hung it up on Cartman's door, looked back with one last smile and headed out to his car where he sat for several minutes screaming into his hands.

* * *

For several years now Cartman's birthday parties had been casual affairs; ever since the childish notion of entertainers and games made way for drink, drugs and making out as more preferable activities, though it certainly was not casual in its attendance. If Cartman could have his way, the whole world would celebrate his existence and not just a small hick town's worth of teenagers.

It was a well-established tradition for Kenny to sit at the kitchen table with Mrs. Cartman, rolling joint after joint because all the other kids were – to quote Kenny _verbatim_ – fucking useless at it. But as Stan pointed out when he entered the room they could only get better with practice and the two of them were currently divesting them of it.

"They can practise the rest of the year," Kenny mumbled from behind his parka hood. "You're late by the way. Wendy's already here."

"I know, I know, I told her to go ahead without me. I got really into a game of football at the park and had to go home for a shower. Trust me, none of you wanted me turning up reeking of post-football sweat."

"Meh, the smell of weed and teen spirit would soon cover it up. Cartman's in the living room if you want to give him his gift."

"Is Kyle with him?"

"Yes," Mrs. Cartman replied in a way that made the word rhyme with 'unfortunately'.

Kenny grinned. "Apparently he stayed the night and Cartman's been lovey-dovey with him all afternoon. I thought this whole thing would be kinda funny but it's just plain gross."

Stan nodded, though his own revulsion was spun from an entirely different spool. He went out to the living room and saw the two of them in a corner near the gift table chatting with Bebe and Wendy. Kyle was taking advantage of his height and had his arm wound possessively, maybe even protectively, around Cartman's shoulders. Cartman was also taking advantage their height difference and had his hand firmly tucked into Kyle's back pocket, giving the pert muscle an occasional squeeze that made Kyle chew the corner of his lip. Everyone at the party that was out of their earshot were having hushed discussions about them, sharing confusion at their relationship – stares ranging from disapproving to disgust to disconcertion.

Years of such a close friendship and Kyle being a susceptive sort meant it wasn't long before he sensed Stan's eyes boring into the back of his head and he excused himself from Cartman's side with a cheek-kiss when he saw Stan jerking his head sternly towards the door. It was only when they were safe from possible eavesdropping at the bottom of the yard that Stan started on him. "The fuck is going on? You said you were going slow."

"We are."

"Kenny said you stayed the night."

Kyle ran a hand through his hair. His fingernail caught on a curl and he ripped it free with a curse of frustration. He was cold without his hat but Cartman insisted he not wear it to the party and who was Kyle to argue with his martinet lover anymore. "You really want the details?"

"I just want to know who the fuck you are these days, because you're sure as Hell not the guy I thought I knew, my best friend."

"I promised him a blow-job. That's the only reason I stayed. And that's all that happened. Hand on heart."

Stan was silent at Kyle's stilted answer.

"You believe me right?"

"Yeah," he said after a short but heavy contemplation. "I believe you. It's just he looked pretty contented in there with you. It's weird."

"Tell me about it. He's been a total bitch to me all week and now he's all sweetness and light."

"So what brought on that 180?" Stan asked sceptically.

"I promised him I'd kill Princess."

Stan could've hit him. "You what?! How are you even going to pull that off?"

"Hear me out," Kyle began cautiously. "There's this episode of The Simpsons where-"

"Jesus Christ, Kyle," Stan groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose, "please don't tell me this is a 'Simpsons did it' cliché."

"Just let me finish. In a really early episode Bart writes love letters to his teacher under a pseudonym. And he realises he has to end it when she wants to meet him."

"Sounds familiar."

"Marge points out that it'd hurt her too much to know the truth, so they write a break-up letter."

"But Princess already broke up with Cartman."

"You're missing the moral, Stan. The truth won't help Cartman now. So the first part of my plan is that I'm going to 'kill' Princess. That way he can finally move on. The least I can do is give him closure."

"Oh sure, THAT'S the least you can do. So fucking noble of you, Kyle. Lying to him forever. Letting him move on with you."

"No, that's where the second part comes in," Kyle said sourly. "This week has taught me that I can't have Eric back. And even if I could, I shouldn't."

"Dude if you break up with him…"

"Actually that's the easiest part. I'll just be a shitty frigid boyfriend until he gives up on me first."

"You think you can resist his charms?" Stan smirked and Kyle was overwhelmed with relief that Stan could still tease him. There was hope for their friendship yet.

"Ay!" They both turned back to the house where Cartman stood shivering on his back doorstep. "Get back in here you homos. Cake time."

"You're right, Stan," Kyle chuckled and winked at him slyly. "Who can resist that? I haven't got a chance."


	12. The Gifts We Bring

Stan patted Kyle's shoulder comfortingly as they walked back down the frozen lawn towards the party. "For what it's worth, there's not much you can do now that won't end in a giant shitty mess, but I think you're doing what's best for Cartman. The best thing that keeps you alive, I mean. And that's the important thing."

Kyle gave him a thankful crooked smile for as brief a moment as possible. Cartman was already throwing daggers at their close proximity and he grabbed Kyle jealously from Stan's side the second they were through the doorway. Stan didn't care. He was starving from his game earlier and he left them to it whilst he scavenged over the large selection of snacks. Cartman nipped at Kyle's mouth. It was far tastier than anything his mother had cooked. "Pumping Stan for info, huh? I'd rather you pumped me," he hinted.

"Info?"

He buried into Kyle's neck no longer minding that he had the same scent as Princess – it was nostalgically comforting – and lowly said, "I'm pretty sure the little asswipe is friends with Princess. He came to the bar one night."

"If Stan's hiding something from you, Cartman, it would be for a good reason."

"Well of course _you'd_ defend him," he spat.

Kyle ran a mollifying hand down Cartman's back and he made a light rumbling sound akin to a purr. "C'mon, it's your birthday. Don't get worked up, not today. Let's go get some cake." Cake was always a good answer to any qualm, especially if they were the Cartman kind.

The party-goers gathered around the table as Mrs. Cartman lit the eighteen candles and they all burst into a drunken squawking of 'Happy Birthday'. Cartman happily soaked up the attention and with a wink towards his boyfriend he pursed his lips suggestively and blew out the flames. Kyle watched the pressed steel of the cake knife slide into the confection with ease. He knew exactly what Cartman had wished for and his stomach turned. Mrs. Cartman reluctantly held out a plate for him but he had to politely refuse. In fact, he hadn't eaten much of anything all day and it was starting to take its toll. _Stupid fucking diabetes_ , he thundered internally and followed Cartman to go talk with Kenny for a while.

* * *

It was as Cartman was licking away the last of the frosting from his thumb that Clyde suddenly burst into the party. He staggered into the midst of the dividing throng, stinking of last night's drink and that morning's vomit. "Cartman, you fucker! You owe me a grand."

"Get the hell out of my house, dickshit. You're drunk," Cartman growled having decided that Kyle was right; he shouldn't and wouldn't let stupid little things ruin his birthday.

"Princess didn't turn up last night. I was finally going to make money at that fucking dive by betting on him and you ruined it."

Cartman's patience whittled down to a nub at the hushed gossiping around the room. He'd deliberately kept quiet about his ex's flamboyant career. It was no-one's business what kind of guys he was into. He had to get rid of Clyde before he said too much. "Where that asshole goes or doesn't go is not my problem, Clyde. Kindly fuck off."

The next moment was the second biggest mistake of Kyle's life. Clyde lunged forward to attack Cartman with an ear-piercing wail of rage. With his own howl of, "Eric!" Kyle countered Clyde mid-flight, struggling for a short period before he threw him to the floor and straddled his back as he wrenched his arm into a hold and they both gasped for the wind that had been knocked out of them.

"Dude, that was sick!" Kenny cheered. "Where'd you learn moves like that? I know that wasn't from our old wrasslin' classes."

It was like the world and everyone else in it fell away around them as Kyle dared to look up at Cartman; head hung low and hands clenched at his side. He could almost hear the gears grinding in his head as he stared and slowly worked out what he was seeing, his face darkening from pink to red to purple. Kyle saw Stan tentatively reach out to graze Cartman's arm asking something like, "Are you okay?" though the blood pumping through his ears muffled the sound.

Cartman was not okay.

"Get out," he whispered. "All of you."

Stan stepped back. He found enough of his voice to say, "Party's over guys," and began ushering the confused teens out of the house when they initially failed to budge. He and Kenny dragged Kyle and Clyde off the ground. Kyle tried to fight him and sobbed as Cartman roughly pushed past his mother and ran up the stairs to his room. "Dude, don't be fucking stupid," Stan hissed. "Let him calm down first."

Kyle knew he was right, Kyle knew that Cartman was at his most dangerous when he went quiet, Kyle knew that he wasn't the only one at risk if Cartman exploded right here and now in a crowd with a menagerie of weapons to hand, Kyle knew it but all he wanted to do was comfort the boy he knew deep down was Eric. The boy he'd hurt beyond comprehension. The boy he'd always love. The boy whose hands he now knew he'd have to die by.

Everyone began to make their way home, or go hang out somewhere else and gossip about the confusing event. Except Stan, Kyle and Clyde; stood together gazing up at Cartman's home wondering what he was doing, though the screams of rage and crashing of furniture offered up some indication.

"You're him, aren't you?" Clyde pondered out loud. He rolled his shoulder, aching from where Kyle had put it in a lock. "You're P.B." Kyle didn't have time to reply with a lie or a truth before Clyde gasped, "And Cartman didn't know?! Dude, he's going to _kill_ you."

"Yes," said Kyle softly and began to wander back to his house, Stan's arm around his shoulder. "But maybe this was how I was always meant to go."

Realising there was nobody left to offer him a ride home, Clyde clicked his arm back into place with a high-pitched wince and meandered down the street with a heavy guilty feeling in his gut.

* * *

Kenny didn't quite understand what had happened that Saturday, nobody did. All they knew was that Cartman had stayed home all week and wasn't in contact with anyone. His mother wasn't allowed to divulge any details on his condition and Kyle couldn't offer anything either. They appeared to have broken up, and Kyle was indeed broken – slumped over the lunch table poking his food with his fork and occasionally jolting upright to look around with darting suspicious eyes.

"What's up with Kyle?" Kenny asked Stan who was ahead of him in the lunch queue and passed him some of his share. He could afford it.

"To put it in his terms, 'the sword of Damocles is hanging over my head, I just want to see it before Cartman cuts it down'."

"That's… foreboding," Kenny murmured and crunched at an apple. Stan paid for them both and they went and sat with Kyle, even though they knew he wouldn't acknowledge them. Kenny quietly asked if Cartman might turn up for school the next day.

"He won't," Kyle spoke suddenly.

"What?" asked Stan, picking up the bread roll he dropped in fright at Kyle's sudden rasping voice.

"Be pointless to turn up for just one day." He pushed his untouched lunch to Kenny who gratefully started tucking in. "But I know what to do to make him feel better. How to make things right."

"Dude," Stan started and Kyle recognised the worried timbre.

"I won't do anything stupid," he lied. He was getting good at that. But truthfully he didn't have much of a plan at all. He was going to go back to the club firstly, make sure that they had no machinations in mind towards Cartman. He would probably be made to fight twice in a row as penance for running out on them the week before. After that, he had no idea. Hopefully Cartman would turn up to the bar tomorrow. Let him explain, beg for forgiveness or at the very least apologise. If he didn't then maybe Kyle would go to him. But then what?

In science class Kyle gazed forlorn as an orphaned fawn at the empty place beside him. Thinking how not so long ago he'd been trying to flirt with Cartman in between writing notes. He traced where Cartman had scratched murals of guns and dead bodies and fucking into the wood with his favourite blade.

And inspiration struck.

* * *

"Poopsie-kins, are you hungry?" Mrs. Cartman cooed from outside her son's bedroom door. When her question was met with silence as usual she opened the door with a cautious push. "I have some scrummy cookies. I just baked them." She stepped over the broken remnants of furniture. "They're peanut butter," she sang temptingly.

Cartman was lying in the dark on his bed with his cat and looking blindly up at the ceiling, eyelid twitching with each syllable of her grating voice.

"Why don't we go get some new furniture for your room?" she asked. She replaced the full plate of now stale breakfast she had left him earlier with the cookies and gestured at the pieces of wood on the floor from where he had let out his anger on the innocent items. "This was all a bit dated anyhow."

"Go. A. Way. Myeom," he enunciated for her.

"Honey…" She dared to sit beside him on the bed and soothed her fingers through his unwashed hair. "I still don't understand what happened. Is this really all because the Donovan boy gate-crashed your party?"

He shuddered out, "Kyle lied to me."

"Oh sweetie, of course he did." She kissed his forehead gently. "I did warn you not to be friends with his kind. It's not your fault though. You're too trusting and nice, Eric."

He tilted his head slightly at her in disbelief.

"But don't let this itty-bitty setback deter you. Just because you tried to reach out and give him a chance and he deceived you, doesn't mean there aren't good people in the world. But try to stick to Christians from now on. You're less likely to be disappointed."

He rolled over and groaned into his sweat-soaked pillow.

"Do you want me to throw away his gift?"

"Huh?"

She offered him a cookie with a sullen frown. "The horrible little thing actually came round last night with a present for you. As if that would fix things."

Cartman sat up and regretted it as the blood rushed into his head and dizzied him. He trembled from lack of food. Lack of _him_. "Where is it?"

"Oh honey you don't want-"

"FUCKING BRING ME MY PRESENT!" he screeched and she hurried away to fetch it. "Good," he said snippily and snatched it from her, "now leave me alone." Once she'd left (with the cat in tow mewing pathetically for food) he switched on his lamp and scrutinised the colourful box carefully. Something heavy was inside and it clunked softly against the sides as it moved around. He tore open the paper and lifted the lid to reveal the bright pink of Princess's outfit. The mask grinned wickedly at him, mocking or manic, who knew.

In amongst the folds of fabric: a small gun and a few bullets carefully sealed in ziplock bags.


	13. The End We Fear

"What's for dinner?" Cartman snarled as he crashed into the kitchen and threw himself into the refrigerator head first, a plume of steam rising as his shower-warmed skin met the cold air.

"Oh poopsie," his mother squealed in delight, "you've got your appetite back!"

"I need my strength for tonight." He found a can of soda and cracked it open. He needed a burst of energy and caffeine would do for now. Having drained the can of its contents he pulled on a pair of boots and opened the door to the backyard. "I am just going outside and I may be some time."

Mrs. Cartman had the feeling he was quoting something, but she didn't know what and didn't really care. She was too giddy with glee that her baby had decided to stop destroying the house and wanted a nice hot meal.

Moments later she could hear him in the yard practising his pistol aim on the empty cola can, and she hummed happily as she diced some vegetables for her growing boy's dinner.

* * *

The dark red shirt, Princess's favourite on him, was good for hiding stains and it seemed fitting to wear the same clothes he wore for their first real fuck. He picked up Kyle's gun, still surrounded safely by the bag. It was a nice little piece: from Jimbo's store most likely. Stan would have gotten him a family discount.

Why give someone who had more weapons than the average Final Fantasy inventory a gun, one might ask, and it was a good question. One that Cartman had mulled over for several minutes that afternoon until the hermetically sealed plastic offered a hint. Then he understood Kyle's peace-offering.

The only fingerprints on them would be Jimbo's and Kyle's. So long as he got the angle right, he could make it look like an accident, suicide, whatever kept his nose clean. He'd have to wear gloves for cleanliness and to hide his own prints. The gun would be traced to the store, the store would produce Kyle as the purchaser. He was being given a perfect crime. Kyle'd probably even write a goodbye note just for extra credibility if Cartman bullied him.

 **My bitch parents put too much pressure on me keeping up my nerd grades, I can't live with it any longer, wah wah wah.**

Something like rid of Kyle _and_ make Sheila and Gerald feel like shit, Cartman could almost squee like a yaoi fangirl at the idea. And Kyle was handing him the scenario for free, easy as pie.

He really did love him, the sucker.

Cartman went to the bathroom and slapped some cologne (also Princess's favourite on him) around his neck and shot his fingers at his wan reflection. "Looking killer!" he quipped and laughed at his pun until he cried.

* * *

Kyle threw off the trench coat as he entered the fight club and stood in all his pink and white glory in front of the angry crowd. His spare costume and mask were not as detailed as his regular set but no-one would notice or care. The overall impression was what counted and he hoped it was a memorable one. He didn't expect to be here long and it would be his last fight. As backward as Cartman could be about social cues Kyle knew he would understand the significance of his gift. He wouldn't take long to make his decision.

"Always one for an entrance, P.B." Brass Monkey sneered from the bar next to a down-for-the-count Clyde snoring into the puddles of beer.

Kyle flashed his teeth into a smile, though it had no humour behind it, and made his way to the cage. Snakebite followed him inside, leg still dragging lamely. A slim wrestler in a green-themed ensemble that Kyle didn't recognise hovered by the doorway and shut them in tight.

"I'll go easy," said Kyle, motioning to Snakebite's leg.

"Don't do me no favours. This is my last chance to fight you and I'm going to make the most of it."

"Last chance?" Kyle hadn't told them he was really quitting this time. "What y'all mean?"

"Didn't Grasshopper tell you?" he cackled with a jerk of his head towards the emerald figure at the cage door. "This is a death match. You're going to fight us one by one, no breaks, until you drop. For good."

" _If_ I drop," Kyle answered coolly. As he got into stance and waited for the bell to ring he thought of Eric, gleefully counting bullets on his bed, unaware that his revenge was at this minute being stolen. He couldn't lose, not tonight. Winning for Eric suddenly meant a whole lot more.

* * *

Thinking on the last few minutes of the school day made Stan feel sicker and sicker with each minute but it swam around his head like a whole bowlful of evil goldfish. He paced around his empty living room even though his feet stung and his lungs ached. Earlier, Kyle had approached him before he got into his car and hugged him tightly. "I'm sorry," he'd said and it was practically a self-eulogy.

"What for?"

"For dragging you into this. Making you lie." He pulled back to press his forehead closer to Stan's cheek. "Cartman might decide one dead body isn't enough. I'll do my best to convince him that you're innocent of all this but…"

Stan hadn't even thought of that. The fewer people that knew about Kyle's double-life as Princess Ballerina the better. And if Kyle disappeared Stan would have a hell of a time convincing the police he knew nothing. Clyde might be in trouble too.

So it made sense even to Cartman that when Stan heard him banging on his front door that evening he refused to open it. Cartman cocked his gun. "Where's Ju Paul?" he yelled through the letterbox.

"Who?" asked Stan and he stood aligned with the door so Cartman couldn't see him through the window.

"Your little ginger bitch, of course. Don't play innocent, hippy. You're in on all this shit."

"Cartman, I swear to God I didn't know until a couple of weeks ago. I only didn't say anything because… we were trying to make it a clean break. So you wouldn't get hurt."

"Aw, how sweet of you guys," Cartman simpered. "OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR."

Stan jumped back as the wood vibrated loudly under his ear from where Cartman was hammering against it. "He's not here, honest. He's told me nothing. I don't know where he is."

"Well he's not home. Nobody is."

"His dad's drinking with my dad, his mom has a book club and Ike's probably with a girl. That's how most Broflovski Fridays play out."

Cartman disarmed the gun and tucked it away. If Kyle was treating this as a standard Friday night (possibly to distract any suspicions about how it was going to end) then he would be at the warehouse wrestling. The most obvious place in the world and Cartman didn't think of it. Now he was mad at himself and he didn't want to be. It made him madder.

From the other side of the door Stan could hear him shuffle around in the snow and walk away down the driveway. He slowly closed his eyes. He couldn't believe he was about to do something so reckless but he had to at least try and save Kyle. He yanked open the door and called out on the breeze.

Cartman considered reaching for his gun, even had his fingers poised in his pocket as if he were already holding it. But the plaintiveness of the voice stopped him. "What is it, Marsh?"

"I know I have no right to ask this but please, don't do it Cartman." Stan dared to stand behind him. Not unafraid – obviously by the shaking in his legs – but trusting. "Not for me, or for him. But for yourself. You'll regret it if you go through with this."

"Really?" Cartman swivelled around, swaying on the balls of his feet casually. "I shall have to disagree with you on that. I think it will be rather fun."

"Haven't you even thought about why he did this?"

"Because it comes naturally to him. Because he's a sneaky dirty fucking ki-"

"Oh shut up!" Stan screamed and shocked himself more than Cartman. "Like you wouldn't do the same to him if you'd been given the chance! And worse I'd bet!"

"Are you telling me I deserved this?" he snarled back. "Punished for something I didn't even do? Skank Hunt all over again?"

"No…" Stan mumbled. "I'm asking you to think about not what Kyle _did_ , but _why_ he did it. Why you'd do it too. You might be surprised at the answer."

"Do me a favour. Stay out of this." Cartman spat on the ground and to his chagrin he narrowly missed Stan's shoe. "The only reason you're still standing is because I want all six bullets for ballet-boy." He didn't wait around for any more of Stan's protests. He needed to find Kyle.

* * *

Clyde peeled his mouth from the sticky pool of ale on the bar top and looked blearily around the warehouse. Everyone else had crowded around the cage and he could hear the hollering and hooting of the excited patrons. "Shit, have they already started?" he asked the barman.

"Yep. Sorry kid."

He let his face fall back into the puddle. "Guess I'll bet on the next one," he gurgled.

"No betting tonight. Only one loser on the cards and he's been predetermined."

"What do you mean?"

The barman snorted and poured them both a refresher. "It's a fight to the death. The owner's finally seen sense about P.B. and about time too. I still can't stand knowing those guys have had their faggy lips on these glasses." He examined the one he was drinking from with a scowl. "No matter how much I clean them it never feels like it's good enough."

Clyde nodded sombrely and downed his drink, excusing himself as discreetly as he could before high-tailing it out to the parking lot. He tripped fortuitously over Kyle's trench coat on his way and grabbed the car keys from the pocket. Once safely outside he wandered around pressing the key fob furiously until the right car responded. He dove inside and had to move the seat back to accommodate his bulkier frame. When he started the engine the stereo blasted the easy-listening station at his sensitive ears. _This is definitely Kyle's car_ , he thought bleakly and turned the volume down. Seatbelt in place, he headed back into the suburbs. Help would hopefully come from somewhere.

Cartman looked up in confusion as Kyle's car screeched down the street past him. Surprised but not missing a beat, he lifted his pistol and fired an expert shot at the back tyre. With a sharp bang the vehicle mounted the kerb on the opposite side, narrowly missing a couple of trash cans and Cartman swore in resounding disappointment when it was Clyde that fell out of the driver's side and ran across the road. "Cartman! Cartman!" Clyde howled as he skidded to a halt on the icy sidewalk. Cartman grabbed him before he became a fat smear on the ground. "Cartman, it's Kyle!

"You know where he is?"

"He's at the club. They're having a death match. They're going to kill him, Cartman!" He whimpered as Cartman's fingers dug into his doughy arms and dragged him to his feet.

Cartman shoved the gun back in its halter and violently pushed Clyde back up the street. "Those sons of bitches, they're ruining my fun. Get in the car. I'm driving." Cartman moved the seat back even further and threw a spare gun into Clyde's hands as he stood ineffectually by the window. "Take that."

"Oh Jesus!" He held the gun out between his thumb and forefinger as if it were an old turd. "Cartman, I don't know…"

"You're part of this, Choda Boy, whether you like it or not. Now get in the car."

Clyde reluctantly crawled into the passenger side, wishing he'd kept his wonderful little wrestling league to himself.


	14. The Tears We Shed

The bare light bulb hung above the two lovers watching indiscriminately as they rutted noisily against the dressing table. Almost from the first kiss Kyle was consumed by this 'Eric' he had never met before or perhaps only caught glimpses of in their daily lives. The will and the need to hurt him dissipated but Kyle wasn't gallant enough to turn him away. Besides, Eric seemed so eager, wriggling between the table and Kyle's body, groaning at the cool wood behind and the hot wood in front. Kyle would have him, just this once, and they'd part. He would take the secret to his grave.

But then he'd come back for more and as much as Kyle tried he was too amatory to ignore the surge of blood to his groin when Eric tried to fellate him, too enraptured to refuse him when he gave impassioned pleas.

It was _the_ biggest mistake of Kyle's life and it roared through his head even now as he continued to throw each contestant to the ground in succession, which really he should have been concentrating on instead if only for his mortality's sake. But his stamina was only so much and by the time Moscow Mule was done with him he knew it was only a matter of a few blows in the right places. Grasshopper was next and he would have his pound of flesh easily.

Kyle held onto the floor and gazed miserably out at the dingy room unable to find the light that had always been there for him before. "Eric…" He spoke through a waterfall of blood.

Grasshopper turned him over and sat astride his legs. The audience whooped and bayed. "My turn," he said and Kyle's sore eyes widened as far as they could at the recognisable voice. "Oh P.B. you could've had a great career here. But you insisted on messing around with that little fat boy." He leaned forward and there was an unmistakeable erection digging into Kyle's thigh. "Instead of me."

So Eric had been right to be paranoid about his manager. Kyle closed his eyes. He wanted Eric to be the last thing he saw and his mind flooded with incandescent images of the confident smirks and shy blushes, infectious laughter and dark anger. Grasshopper gripped his bruised jaw with one hand and raised the other into a fist. "Goodnight, sweet Princess."

Kyle felt the other man fall away from him long before he registered the gunshot. Devoid of energy his head flopped to the side to watch the body lying on the ground twitch slightly as its life ebbed away and around him came the clamour of shocked and confused yells.

"I think you'll find…" said the most beautiful voice from so very far away, "…that's MY kill."

* * *

Clyde barely had time to react when Cartman leapt out of the parked car and stormed though the doors to the club, pulled out Kyle's gun and fired a shot worthy of a spaghetti western straight through the manager's head. Clyde wailed and held up his own gun, aiming shakily into the dispersing crowd. Cartman elbowed his way through, not that anyone was sticking around where a gun-wielding maniac wanted to step. He approached Kyle as he curled up in agony and inspected his condition with a gentle boot to the ass. Cartman tut-tutted. "I thought you were exaggerating when you said I was your muse. You really can't win a fight without me there to hold your widdle hand, can you?"

Kyle shook his head.

"Get up," Cartman commanded. "Public executions aren't my thing." Kyle stumbled up onto his feet and blinked in confusion at Clyde still guarding against the mob and fumbling for something behind the bar as the barkeeper watched on helplessly. Kyle hoped Cartman had the rational not to give Clyde a loaded gun.

Cartman addressed the sensibly attentive group. "Okay everybody, we're out of here. If you're really that desperate to watch fag-on-fag crime just go to a sale at Sears." He pushed the muzzle of his pistol into Kyle's back and he obediently walked out, dizzily swaying against Clyde as he lost his footing through the doorway. Cartman backed out keeping his gun trained on the others and with a sardonic bow he was gone.

* * *

Kyle collapsed thankfully on the back seat of his car. He faded in and out of consciousness throughout the journey – heard low exchanges from the front and Cartman's sudden tirade about a guy that cut him up, a rustle of paper notes and the sound of guns being un-cocked. He woke fully only when he caught the reassuring scent of his sheets and he sat up carefully to find himself in his bloodied bed still wearing his costume and mask. Cartman was pacing by his dresser scratching his forehead with the end of the pistol, making Kyle nervous for his safety. Cartman could be a little too relaxed around weapons for his own good.

"Cartman…"

He dropped the gun to his side. "Shut up. I'm thinking."

"It's okay, you know. What you're here for – it's okay." He tucked his feet under his rear (Cartman had removed his heels at least) and clasped his hands together. "Look, I know I have no right to ask for a final request but could you shoot me in the yard? I don't want to leave a mess for my parents to clean."

"I said SHUT UP!" he barked. Kyle flinched as the gun waved towards him but Cartman's finger stayed clear of the trigger. "I'm running this show."

"Of course you are, nobody's disputing that," said Kyle, smart enough and rueful enough to stroke Cartman's ego.

Cartman pulled a large number of bills from his jacket pocket and shuffled them greedily. "Five thousand. That's the price of my dignity. Some people might say over-priced." Sensing Kyle's confusion, though not very apparent because of the mask, he explained further, "Clyde grabbed some cash from the bar. Got to supplement our losses from not betting on you for two weeks." He tucked the money back home inside his jacket. "I guess it's kinda hush money in his case. Though I could just kill him too. And of course there's also Stan to think on."

Kyle fidgeted nervously at the mention of his best friend's name and Cartman's grip on the gun's handle tightened. He continued to muse out loud. "Your family's all out. On our own here. Even if a neighbour heard… A gunshot in a mountain town? Not exactly rare. No-one'll come running. You're just lying there on your bed, wounded, tame. You've dished the whole thing up for me and even shelled out for the silver and pink platter."

His sad chuckle was distant thunder.

"But I'm not gonna do it." He gestured the gun towards Kyle's face again and wasn't at all surprised that this time he didn't so much as blink. He moved closer and caressed Kyle's forehead with the muzzle and tried to look at him like there was nothing there but Kyle could see the shine of love and the burn of hate. "Don't get me wrong, Broflovski. I wouldn't think twice about putting a bullet through your head. But Princess…"

Kyle whimpered remorsefully when Eric recalled the gun and pressed the cold steel against his own round cheeks and wept harrowingly. "For some reason I can't kill Princess. I just can't."

Or maybe it had always been Kyle he couldn't kill. He'd had the opportunities over the years, plenty of reasons and the desire. But he usually faltered when faced with the decision and whenever he didn't and Kyle's life was saved by serendipity – there was secret relief at his failure.

"Fuck, Kyle… what did you _do_ to me?" his voice crackled.

Kyle was up in a flash to gather him in his arms. Eric hit him in the chest with a weakly-formed fist and Kyle dutifully backed off only to have him pull him back with a deep sob as the fragmented boy broke bit by bit in the tender embrace. Time fled past and they didn't know how long they stood there, Kyle rocking them gently and whispering heartfelt apologies. Too little and too late but something Eric needed to hear and Kyle wanted to say. The tears ran dry all too soon and the inevitable conclusion to their adventure together was imminent.

Kyle unwillingly let Eric step back and turn away out of sight. He toyed with the gun, spinning the chamber thoughtfully. "I think you know what you need to do if you really want to make reparations," said Eric. "But if you _are_ too much of a coward then we've got a whole year of school to get through. Best if we don't ever hang out again. I'll keep to my crew, you keep to yours. Anyone gets up in your face about it just say we split up over artistic differences." He pressed the side of gun to his lips. "You don't speak to me, you don't look at me, you don't acknowledge me at all. I don't want you to even remember my name."

Eric finally turned back having said his piece, not catching Kyle's eye, one hand deep in his jacket pocket as the other slid the gun onto the bedside table and made slowly for the exit. "Goodbye, Princess," he added softly.

"Goodbye, Beautiful."

Cartman, naturally pessimistic, thought Kyle was mocking him. Enraged he swivelled around to find Kyle hanging his upper body out of his bedroom window, gun pressed to his temple. Kyle sighed and squeezed the trigger with a quiet click.


	15. The Scars We Bear

**Thank you for reading and I hope you're satisfied with this ending - it's the ending I've had planned all along, as you might guess from the few callbacks (anyone who's read Paper Dreidel knows I love my callbacks).**

 **There is some slight bloodplay in the following smut.**

* * *

Kyle blinked slowly at the snow-covered ground still a full storey below him and pulled the trigger again. The sharp snap of metal against metal shivered down from his head through his body but that was what confused him. He shouldn't be able to experience such a thing. Kyle drew himself in from the window and looked back at his bedroom doorway. Cartman cackled and flapped his coat as if it were a pair of wings and the four cartridges in the left pocket jingled blithely. He ducked at the empty gun flying past his head and into the wall. "Ay! That nearly hit me!"

"You fucking asshole, Cartman! How could you DO that to me?"

"Are you fucking kidding? How am I the bad guy here? Anyway the whole point of suicide is to do it alone, genius – you're supposed to wait until I've gone. You could've incriminated me just then."

Kyle threw up his hands in exasperation. "Well fuck Cartman, excuse me for being too distracted to think about these things when I'm trying to kill myself."

"You had enough time to consider your bitch-mom mopping up your brains from the walls," he pointed out furiously.

"You're such a psychopath, Jesus, dude." Kyle fell back onto the bed holding his head.

"Thanks, you're not so bad yourself." There was a long pause, broken only by Kyle's fractured crying. Eventually, he lifted his hands from his eyes and peeked out at Cartman, who shrugged back at him apathetically then asked, "Why'd you do it?"

"Because I felt guilty. I AM guilty."

"I wasn't talking about that."

Kyle stared at the ceiling as Cartman sank down beside him on the bed. There was something to be said for an honest relationship. Kyle decided it was time to try it out. "At first, I wanted to hurt you. I'm so tired of always being shit on, especially by you. I wanted to pre-empt you just once. But the more we kissed, and the way you looked at me. _Him_. You were… so cute."

Cartman said nothing. Frowned.

"Suddenly my intentions changed. I couldn't go through with hurting you. So I told myself it'd just be that once, and I'd never tell you. Fuck – a reason like that – somehow that's worse, isn't it? But I wanted you. I wanted you selfishly, ruthlessly, callously..." Kyle turned to Cartman when he felt him shaking the bed and gasped in horror when he saw he was unsuccessfully hiding subdued laughter. "Cartman?"

"Oh my God!" he finally burst out. "I just got it. I know what Stan was talking about now. Can't believe I didn't see it before." He pushed Kyle back down against the mattress and straddled his hips, ignoring the injured boy's wincing. He gleefully thumbed the bruises along Kyle's neck. "You lied, hid your identity, covered your tracks, even dragged your best friend into the whole scheme knowing I'd probably kill him for being a witness. All to get a piece of my sweet ass." He put his other hand over his heart. "I've never been so flattered. It's the most romantic thing I've ever heard of."

"Flattered? Romantic?" Kyle said askance. "Cartman, it's not flattering and what I did wasn't romantic. It was reprehensible, deplorable-"

"And exactly what _I_ would have done," Cartman interrupted. He pecked a kiss onto Kyle's brow in delight. "I knew you were a little monster. _My_ little monster."

Kyle wasn't getting through to him, but he realised he should have expected that. Of course Cartman with his fucked up sense of values and twisted view on relationships would romanticise what had happened. It was what had gotten them into trouble in the first place; Kyle letting Cartman take charge of where the relationship was going when he had no capacity to comprehend such adult things. Kyle had to take responsibility for where this was headed. "What do you want, Cartman?"

"I want to be able to trust you. And I don't, not yet. But you're so good at pounding my ass I'm willing to give you another 'shot'." Cartman grinned at Kyle, clearly proud of his pun. "Also, I want Princess," he added and at Kyle's groan he prodded his chest. "Don't give me that. Secretly you really like that prissy outfit."

"It isn't so much the outfit as the reaction it elicits." Kyle smiled. "But if you're not going to kill me, or let me kill myself, then how can you get your revenge? How will you heal?"

"That's easy," Eric whispered into his mouth. "See, you die and I'll feel good for a few days, maybe a few weeks. But if you live, you can make me feel good every day…"

"…Through other means," Kyle finished for him.

Cartman kissed him roughly, lapping at the blood flowing from his reopened scar. "You're mine until the day you die; whether it's in thirty years from your shitty diabetes or in thirty minutes because I got bored. You're stuck with me – potentially forever. Think you can handle that?"

"It's all I ever wanted," Kyle murmured into Eric's hair as he sucked at his neck.

"Ha, sweet-talker." He coaxed Kyle onto his knees. "Ay, why am I doing all the hard work?"

"Sorry, Beautiful," he answered, woefully touching his split lip.

Cartman squirmed bashfully. "Don't call me that."

"Why not, if I'm still Princess?

"Well yeah but… wait you really meant it all this time?"

"Of course."

He glanced away and rubbed his rotund stomach. "But I'm…"

"Beautiful," Kyle repeated adamantly.

"You some kind of chubby-chaser?" he asked sceptically.

"Only when they look as good as you." By now Kyle had encouraged Cartman to flop over onto his back on his pillows. He ran his hands over Cartman's creased shirt. "You dressed up all nice for me, didn't you?"

Cartman nodded. Trust Kyle to notice something like that. Cartman took off his gloves and slipped his hands under the tight lycra. In lieu of a blade he raked his fingers down Kyle's back, the other boy's moaning as his nails caught on every notch of his spine making him chuckle. "Still expecting a knife in your gut any second, aren't you? It's kind of a turn-on seeing you so scared."

Nothing could have scared Kyle more than that little revenge prank Cartman gave him with the gun, and they both knew that however much Cartman threatened he'd truly meant it when he said he couldn't kill him – at least not in his current emotional state, but Kyle humoured him with a nod of his head and lifted the bodysuit over his head. He shivered as Cartman pinched the flesh around his surgery scars and scoffed at them with mild facetiousness. "So that's what you were hiding all this time. Sneaky Jew."

"Sorry."

"Don't be, I'm impressed. Just fucking stoked that I finally got you to prove the stereotype."

Kyle rolled his eyes. "You know what, I've changed my mind. Pass the gun over."

"Oh no you don't," Cartman pouted. "You're not going to get out of this relationship that easily." With a swift shift of his weight Cartman jerked Kyle forward and pinned him against his chest with his arms and hooked his thighs around his side. "You made your bed, now fuck in it."

 _With pleasure_ , thought Kyle and tore off his tights. He had lost his tutu back at the warehouse and frankly it was no great loss. Besides, the whole costume was soiled and torn beyond repair. If Cartman really wanted Kyle to play dress-up again then it would rely on him still owning his spare costume and not having burned it in a fit of rage. Kyle kept his mask on for the moment and concentrated on what he deemed a surplus of clothing on Cartman. He reclined lazily and left Kyle to it, manoeuvring himself only to grant access to the more awkward areas.

Kyle's fingers shook when they brushed across the familiar switchblade tethered around Cartman's calf and the large boy's laughter rippled down into his gut. "Just put it on the side. I've got no plans for it. Not right now anyway."

Kyle cradled the knife affectionately. Cartman really was loving this new upper hand and it was disturbing that he found himself enjoying the power-play as well. In a way it had never felt right to have Cartman completely serving and docile. He placed it on his nightstand where Cartman could reach it if he wanted and quirked his eyebrow at him as a form of subtle dare whilst he rummaged around the drawer for supplies. "Shit," he mumbled after a few seconds.

"What now?"

"I've only got lube."

"S'kewl."

"But-"

"Princess is the only guy I've fucked, you already know that. So unless you've been a little whore in your downtime as Kahl we're not going to have any problems, right?"

Kyle was more worried about the sheets but realising they were smeared in blood anyway he conceded. He poured a liberal amount of the lubricant onto Cartman's cock and leaned over him, rubbing his own against it and stroking them together. Kyle took advantage of his longer torso and bent over to kiss Cartman whereupon he was thwarted by a hand over his mouth.

Cartman fingered the edge of the mask. He had promised himself that one day he would have sex with a mask-less Princess but that was before he knew who dwelled beneath. He pursed his lips thoughtfully and brought his other hand up to gently pull the mask away to reveal the battered and swollen face.

"Disappointed?"

Cartman tilted his head. "Huh?"

"That it's me." Kyle looked away. "Are you disappointed?"

He traced his thumb across Kyle's bruises again. Truthfully he thought it rather fitting that it had been him all along. Only Kyle would ever have the guts to love him. "Nah," said Cartman finally. "Just relieved you're as hot as I hoped you'd be."

"Hot, me? Really?"

"Calling me a liar?" Cartman retorted and kissed him. "Now get on with it – my butt is getting impatient."

It was to be the performance of a lifetime if Kyle was to keep Cartman entertained enough to escape death forever. But then he had always lived for tests, and now he got to do so quite literally. Fellating was the easy part. Kyle was confident enough there and it wasn't long before Cartman was a quivering wreck under his tongue, nipples pink from fingered abuse, yet still Kyle trembled as he entered Cartman knowing he wasn't there from any kind of forgiveness or generosity – only from the other boy's desire to own and control. That was fine by Kyle; there were far worse ways to atone for one's seditious sins and being Eric Cartman's play-thing might have been higher up the list once upon a time but he relished his new role and snapped his hips against the round ass in a way that made Eric hiss, "Fuck me, Princess," into his ear and scratch at the wounds on his back leaving red trails across his ashen skin.

There wasn't much more to Kyle's efforts after that as he began to come shamefully quickly, trying to pull out but flinching at the thick fingernails digging into his flesh and holding him in place. "Don't you dare," Eric practically growled. "I want everything you've got."

He got his wish and his pliant hole tensed around Kyle's cock as it failed to stopper the milky fluid. Then they lay, sated but confused at what and where they were now.

"Eric, would you believe me if I said I love you?" Kyle's meek question shattered the illusion of silence.

"Me too."

Kyle wasn't sure what answer he had been expecting but it certainly wasn't that. "Are you serious?"

"Yeah." Eric reached out for the filthy mask and made it filthier by wiping it between his thighs. A wry smile teased the corners of his mouth when Kyle pulled him back down with a querying whine. Eric settled into the muscular arms happily. "This might sound weird but could you maybe tell me again… in 'the voice'."

Obediently Kyle purred, "I love ya, Beautiful," huskily into his ear and he seemed satisfied that it was the truth.

Eric curled into him sleepily. "Y'know, if you hadn't done all this we'd have danced around each other the rest of our lives never getting anywhere. I'm kinda glad you took the initiative."

"You're saying the end justifies the means? The way your mind works is scary." There was stillness between them again and Kyle felt himself slipping into sleep when he suddenly jerked awake remembering someone that had been mentioned earlier. He carefully extracted himself from under Eric's snoozing body and felt around the floor for his phone. There were several worried messages from Stan.

"Stan's going to kill me when he finds out about this," Kyle groaned and typed out a brief reassuring text back. "He was so pissed at me for deceiving you."

Eric stirred, elated. "I almost broke you guys up? Kickass! I never knew the little pussy cared about me so much."

"Of course he does. And so do I, even if I haven't shown it lately. But from now on I am at your beck and call. Well, I mean within the law."

"Good," Eric yawned, though he was slightly annoyed by that addendum. "My first demand is to have breakfast in bed tomorrow, and God help you if you wake me before the clock's on double digits."

"Oh Jesus," Kyle muttered. "What'll my parents say when _you_ come down the stairs?"

"They'll say oh-em-gee how did our lame daywalker son ever land such a super-kewl awesome guy?"

"Somehow I doubt that."

"Ay!"

"But you're right." Kyle gazed at him adoringly. "How did I?"

"Because, Kahl, you're proving yet another stereotype."

His ginger eyebrows knitted together. "What stereotype is that?"

Eric turned around and ensconced himself amidst the strong arms that Kyle willingly wrapped around his broad back. With a wickedly wily grin Eric placed kisses along his pale neck, glancing over at the knife he no longer desired assistance from and explained something they both knew very well.

"A Jewish Princess always gets what she wants."

* * *

 **Author notes:**

 **As I said from the beginning this was a chance to explore the reversal of a common theme in Kyman where no matter how shitty Cartman is to him, Kyle just rolls over and mewls, "Take me I'm yours," and it sort of bothers me because that's not how I see his personality at all. He's definitely an enabler, but only so far. He knows it's not worth fighting Cartman on every single point because it would be exhausting. And he's certainly no saint himself.**

 **Obviously to write a story where Kyle manipulates and hurts Cartman affects the dynamics greatly. Kyle would easily feel remorse. Kyle would go out of his way to make things right even for someone like Cartman. And Cartman's reactions to all this would change the outcomes too. Cartman is not going to shrug and accept an apology. Cartman lives for his own brand of justice. But Cartman is also desperate and lonely and obsessive.**

 **Perhaps you disagree with this ending. In a way, I did want Kyle to be punished properly, but then it wouldn't have been a true answer to the 'Cartman is awful but Kyle loves him anyway' plotline.**

 **Incidentally, I don't consider this a 'happy' ending. It is a toxic relationship and whilst that's fun in fiction I would highly recommend that any similarities to any real relationships current or past should not be celebrated.**

 **All that aside, boy I sure do love Shitty Kyle and Angst Eric and I hope you did too.**

 **Jim x**


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